The Tell
by PurchasedByFools
Summary: Romey's managed to stay out of trouble - barely. But when she gets thrown into the supernatural world she's got more to protect than just her secrets. With werewolves, Banshees and warlocks running around, it doesn't come as a surprise when Romey gets caught in the crossfire - which holds consequences for everyone in her firing range. Stiles/OC M for mature themes.
1. Wolf Moon

**Quick introduction:**

 **I really don't like the idea of my OC's being boring to the story line or an extra who just takes some of the lines and has no real effect in the fic. Because of this I tend to make my characters in depth and complicated in order to make he fic more exciting. So, be patient in this as it may not seem like much but I'm paying a lot of attention to the details of the plot so when it might seem weird or irrelevant just trust me that it's leading somewhere. The progress bar on my bio will be updated on a regular basis so visit that if you want to know what's happening. I really like reviews and hearing what you like so that I know what you want so DON'T BE AFRAID TO REVIEW!**

 **This chapter and the next two (which I have already written) will be long as they set it up.** **This fic and the pairing OC/Stiles isn't exactly slow burn but the relationship will develop realistically but that doesn't mean that it will be without angst and are-we/aren't we moments.**

 **I've only proof-read it once so if there are mistakes please forgive me!**

 **\- And I know Romey is a weird name but I like it and it has meaning so leave** **it. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of it's characters**

* * *

The steady thudding of my sneakers hitting the dark earth at a constant pace is one of the most comforting sounds that has ever graced my ears. This and the balanced rise and fall of my heartbeat reassures me that _I_ am in control.

The forest surrounding Beacon Hills has been my running track for years now: ever since I sought to find an alternate way to vent rather than taking it out on baseball bats. The first time I slipped on my running gear and pounded the pavement I could only run for about half an hour before a stitch in my side got the better of me, now I can go for miles without stopping and I no longer dread the times when I have to exercise- instead I crave it. More recently, especially since the first day back at school has been looming menacingly over my head, I've been waking up in a cold sweat, scared out of my mind of an unnameable assailant. My legs are restless as they bounce up and down, taken over by a nervous twitch, my hands shake with a desperate need to grab hold of something and hold on tight, and my mind howls with the urge to break free from the dark four walls and escape.

Late into the night when the moon is the only light that illuminates the path from my small house and to the trees and the dirt that have become my home, I tie up my sweat soaked hair, climb out of my window- being careful not to wake up the parents who lie asleep and unaware that their daughter is venturing outside –and command my legs to start and not stop until my mind quiets down and relaxes.

My run takes me from the outskirts of town to the inner depths of Beacon Hill's woods. I don't go further than the small spring of water that acts as a barrier for the usual hiker's trail to the few wild animals that roam through the trees and bushes.

However, tonight's nightmare was different from the usual killer clowns and never-ending mazes. Tonight, the evening before the new term begins, I just _had_ to dream about _that_ night.

Due to all of the pent up emotion, when I reach the cool spring of water that await the wading in and relaxing of my body I don't feel ready, there was still so much more that I need to get rid of. So I carry on, without acknowledging the aching pain in my side or the metallic taste in my mouth, nearing the darker depths of the woods.

Refusing to wear headphones when running alone in the dark is a wise decision that nobody should find difficult to make as it prevents you from hearing the reassuring noise of sweet silence- giving acceptation to the occasion owl and the whistle of my icy breath escaping my now cold and chapped lips. Another superb reason why not wearing headphones is that I am clearly able to hear the hushed whispers of others nearby.

If I was a cartoon character, I would have comically skidded to a halt and yet (instead) I clumsily trip at the sudden stop that my legs perform. I grab a nearby tree trunk to prevent my fall and open my throat wider so that my exhausted panting comes out quieter.

 _Why didn't I just stop at the spring?_ I mentally scold myself, giving the irrational part of my mind a good shake. The _one_ time I decide to venture further than the relative safety of the spring I end up running into potential murderers or members of a Satanic cult which is never a good thing- and there are people that question my solitude and my absence when it comes to pep rallies and collectivised, ritualistic religions.

When my heart beat slows to a pace where the oud thudding of my heart no longer pulses to my ears, I listen in as I hear the crunching of feet on leaves paint the path that the strangers take. They walk right past me, heavy footed and clumsy, completely unaware of their surroundings. The two (yes, two sets of feet), don't even bother whispering, therefore letting me into the conversation which I highly doubt they wanted anyone to hear.

"Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?" _Murderers. Definitely murderers._ I tense up at the voice and frantically look around for somewhere to hide or something sharp and dangerous to protect myself with. There's nothing but a steep hill which the potential _killers_ are heading for. I swear under my breath as a thousand and one things run through my mind, one of which is the thought that they might hear me if I try to run.

"Huh." Exclaims the other, who seems to be the leader as he holds the torch and pilots the way, "I didn't even think about that." He laughs, as if severing someone in half was a regular occurrence and he just happened to forget which half he left behind.

I think I'm going to be sick.

"And, uh, what if whoever killed the body is still out there?" As the words reach my ears I thank my questionable luck for the small favour that is bestowed upon me. These thrill seekers were not murderers! Just idiotic boys that want to _see_ a murdered body. Yeah, they must be totally harmless.

"Also something I didn't think about." Morbid interest thoroughly peaked, I zone into my wallflower mode and carefully creep behind them, stealthily using the technique that my brother taught me- walk with your feet coming down sideways, at an angle. They don't hear me or see me as I follow the glow of the torch.

Getting closer, I can see them a bit more clearly. The apparent leader has what seems to be an athletic build- actually they both do –but the figures are mostly hidden under the coats and jumpers that come as a necessity for surviving the Beacon Hills weather. The torch holder's hair seems short and dark but the only thing I can see from his partner in crime is the moppy tuft of hair that's protruding from his hood.

They reach the foot of the hill and begin to climb, with me following from a safe distance.

"It's comforting to know you've planned this out with your usual attention to detail." Pants the moppy haired boy who lags behind his eager friend who groans in agreement, reaching the top of the hill and bending over as though he's just run a few laps of the school's track field. "Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight, huh?" I want to laugh at the sarcastic banter that flies easily between the two, showing their close friendship. It's one of the only thinks that I miss about having friends: knowing that there is nothing you can say or do that will damage the relationship.

Suddenly, the pair falls to the ground with a thud. I step up the hill slightly to get a better look at what caused the boys to start army crawling as though their lives depended on it. The sound of barking dogs now join the list of things that have ruined my once beautiful silence.

"Hey, come on!" The non-asthmatic shouts, jumping up enthusiastically and taking off in the opposite direction to the police.

"Stiles!" His friend wheezes before taking a puff of his inhaler and following miserably after his friend. I kind of feel bad for him, having to run pathetically after someone that doesn't understand how difficult it is to not be able to control your own breathing like others can. "Stiles!"

Then it hits me. Stiles. _Stilinski_. Meaning that his partner has to be the one and only Scott McCall. It's actually not all that surprising that the two unofficially-but-officially named 'bench warmers' are out looking for a severed body. I have nothing against them, just that they are both pretty odd- even for me.

As this hasn't been my night for wise choices, I don't entirely blame myself when I run after them, easily catching up to a safe distance with my experience in athletics and their… _inability_ to climb a small hill without getting worn out. Unfortunately, being out of hearing range isn't enough as Siles halts for Scott to catch up. I suppose he sees me running after him and his friend as he does a double take, his head tilting in confusion as to why I'm in the woods at this time of night. Our eyes meet, his brown ones full with questions and my blue irises sparkling with the mischief that I'd lost a long time ago. I rest one finger on my puckered lips. He understands the signal but sill opens his mouth to shout. Alas, he doesn't get a chance to call me out as an officer's god starts to bark loudly, startling Stiles to the ground and Scott and I behind separate trees.

Holding my breath, I pray that I don't get caught- there have been too many reasons as to why I will regret this nigh and waking up in a holding cell charged with breaking curfew, trespassing and possible stalking is not going to be one of them.

"Hang on, hang on!" Says an officer, who holds the dog back from eating Stiles' face, "This little delinquent belongs to me."

So, Stiles' father is a police officer which explains how he knew about the body.

"Dad, how are you doing?" Stiles replies casually as if they were sitting down for a nice family meal. His dad obviously doesn't buy i: I can _feel_ his disapproving glare.

"So, do you listen to all of my phone calls?"

"No… not the boring ones." I barely manage to stifle a laugh, imaging the unamused look on his father's face.

"Now, where's your usual partner in crime?"

"Who. Scott?" Stiles replies, pretending to be baffled at the idea that he'd be _anywhere_ with Scott, which is funny considering that the two probably shower together. "Scott's home. He said that he wanted to get a good night's sleep for the first day back at school tomorrow. It's just me. In the woods. Alone."

"Scott, you out there?" His dad shouts, shining the torch along the perimeter like a search light. "Scott?" Receiving no reply, the torch switches off and I breathe a sigh of relief. "Well, young man, I'm gonna walk you back to your car." The voice starts to fade as father drags son off into the distance. "And you and I are gonna have a conversation about something called 'Invasion of Privacy'."

When the coast is clear, I realise that thunder has been sending warning signs for an impending storm and the chattering of my teeth and the Goosebumps on my unusually pale arms tell me that if I'm not careful I'll freeze to death. Feeling thoroughly regretful of ever coming out tonight, I resign to head back the way I came and just try to get as much sleep possible despite not having run enough to make my mind unafraid of the darkness. I tread carefully, on alert of other polices and wary of branches or brambles that could make me fall. I can tell Scott isn't very far behind as I can hear his heavy footsteps. Only soon it's not just his feet, it's a whole herd.

I hear his cry and spin around to run back on impulse. Deer bound and leap above him, every hoof narrowly missing crushing his skull. I sprint back, not bothered by the fact that my night time stalking would be discovered.

"Scott!" I shout, trying to gain his attention and scare the deer away only he doesn't hear me over the stampede. Edging a bit closer, I wait until the last one has galloped away before rushing over to him and checking if he's been brutally trampled. "Scott, are you okay?" I ask as I land beside his shocked form.

Looking up at me weirdly, a small squeak comes from his throat he manages a frightened, "Romey Ziel? What are you doing here?"

I grab his hand pulling him up to his feet and watch him wipe his muddy hands on his trousers.

"Running. Which I think is an excellent answer considering yours would be something along the lines of 'Oh, you know, just looking for a mutilated body in the middle of the night."

"T-touché," He coughs and splutters, "Sorry, but…" Wheezing horrifically, he abandons speaking and reaches for his phone, switching on the flashlight and shining it at the ground.

"Oh right, uh, your inhaler." I join the search. His eyebrows arch slightly at my knowledge of his health conditions, but I wasn't about to tell him that I'd been following him for the last twenty minutes.

We stay in silence as we spend the next few moments searching for the small piece of plastic. Being without any source of light, it was more difficult to see where I was looking but I somehow managed for the most part. Until I felt cold, dead, rotting flesh amongst the cold, dead, rotting leaves.

As soon as my fingers brushed the body, I could feel my dinner rise in my throat along with a piercing scream. Both came out at once. I clutch my stomach, feeling the panic attack start to creep into my blood and my nerves, setting them on fire. The fear and the numbness comes spilling back as I look into the stone eyes of the victim. Jesus, I swear that you can see Hell in a dead person's eyes. Falling to my knees, I cover my mouth in hopes to stop the next scream.

I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing a dead body.

Scott fumbles over to me, the question on his throat being replaced by his own sound of fear. Stumbling backwards, Scott falls in panic and ends up crashing down the same hill that we came up.

"Scott!" I shout, finding the strength to get up and half-crawl/half-spring over the edge. I watch horrified as he tumbles violently downhill, his back colliding with a tree before he smacks against the hard dirt with a painful thud, "Jesus, are you okay?"

There is a moment of tense silence where I fear that he's been knocked out. I begin to work out a safe passage to him when my thoughts are interrupted by the dreadful roar of a very frightened asthmatic.

"RUN!" The frantic cry is quickly followed by a terrifying growl. A cry of pain comes next before I hear what seems like a desperate fight breaks out between Scott and whatever is down there with him. And then, quieting out everything else as it pierces that black night, creating a dreadful atmosphere and shaking my innards, is a howl.

I don't run. I sprint.

 _Maybe I can catch up to the police,_ the bones in my legs vibrate from the force I'm using to push them at the speed they're going as they head towards the parking lot.

I don't know how fast I'm going but I make it to my car in record time, throwing myself in the bug and gripping hard onto the steering wheel.

My shallow breaths take a while to slow down and when they do I don't know how much time has passed but I know that leaving without Scott is not an option. I may be scared to fall asleep but I'm not a coward: I close my eyes anyway.

Stepping on the gas, tyres screeching I start to drive back to the place where I left him, I slow at areas, looking out of the window and squinting my eyes. There's nothing. No sign of him or whatever had attacked him.

I swiftly turn the corner, ready to park again and look for him on foot when a limping figure appears in front of my headlights. I swerve to a stop, almost crying in relief when I see Scott okay… badly injured but _okay_.

"Jesus, Scott! Get in." I call out of my window. His pained face turns towards me and I can see clearly the browns of his irises, the straight but uneven jawline and even the tired bags under his eyes that contrast with his tanned skin. When he just stares I lean over and open the passenger door. "We need to get you to the hospital," My eyes skim down his for and land on the pool of blood on his shirt, "before you bleed out."

Nodding slightly, he limps into the passenger's seat and winces as he sits. My eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"What happened out there? From the sound of it I was half expecting to find the top half of _your_ body."

"I don't know. I think…" I press on the acceleration and begin to drive towards the county hospital not bothering to check my mirrors knowing that all I'll see is empty road and a nearly full moon reflecting off the glass, "I think it was a wolf."

...

"Rome!"

My eyelids shoot open to stare at the ceiling of my bedroom, light shining through the curtain, piercing my eyes and causing my raw, dry throat to elicit a groan. My mom stands at the end of my bed, holding up a glass of apple juice in one hand and my pills in the other. Anne Ziel is your typical suburban mom; shoe loves wearing jean pencil skirts and constantly worries about her kids; she has regular hair appointments to touch up the barely there grey hairs with an artificial but natural looking hazel; and she loves, and I mean _loves_ , red wine.

I sit up slowly, still shaky from last night, and reach for the cocktail of uppers and anti-psychotics. I swallow them down, wincing at the size of the mix. Normally, I take them down one-by-one but today was just not feeling like my day.

"Are we going to talk about what happened last night?" My mom has her usual parental face on and waits expectantly for me to give her a full recount of last night; starting from when I was, "stupid enough to leave without telling anyone" (her words, not mine); and ending with getting picked up by my dad from the hospital where I had to tell the police whereabouts I found the body.

Swinging my legs over the bed I stretch, feeling the aches and pain all over my muscles.

"Can we do this later please? I want to get to school early so that I can talk to Coach about the upcoming track meet." Normally, that wouldn't have worked (my mom is a fan of giving lectures, no matter how long they might end up being) but instead she just nods, opens my curtains and leaves. Usually that's a massive warning sign for me to start apologizing but I have bigger problems to deal with. Like getting through the day.

Getting ready is not at all time consuming- slipping on some worn jeans and one of my brothers old tees doesn't take much effort. I tend to dry my lengthy brown hair straight to the slight wave its gets when I sleep is okay to go to school with. I don't even bother looking in the mirror before I leave, knowing that I'll see an athletic looking girl, still harbouring a little baby fat that doesn't seem to budge, wearing clothes that are too big for her and shoes that are falling apart. But her eyes are pretty despite not wearing makeup- light blue and glossy. And all that's fine.

My breakfast of raisins and coffee are taken in the front seat of my Volkswagen Bug, my tatty schoolbag thrown uncaringly on the passenger's seat. Driving to Beacon Hills High School was close to being physically painful. Fortunately, people had stopped staring at me like I was a crazy witch with a hooked nose and a giant wart _last_ year. Parking in a spot close to the front doors, I take a deep sigh and pray that nobody knows that _I_ was the one that found the body last night because, like I said, I'd only just stopped being labelled as a witch.

Heading straight for the girl's locker room, I swap my jeans and top for the running shorts and he red and black team top that I keep in my cubicle. I slide off my flip-flops and shove on some ankle socks, quickly tying up the laces of my running shoes. Checking the clock, I've got about half an hour before I need to have a shower and head to class. I waste none of it.

I hit the playing field hard, running in laps around the whole of the lacrosse pitch. Last night still had me riled up. It turns out that Scott got bit pretty badly and is lucky that the thing didn't take off a whole arm. On the way to the hospital he said that it was a wolf that bit him, but everybody knows that we only get coyotes and the occasional mountain lion down here, but he swears that that was what he saw, so I went along with it despite my suspicions that it was something else- I don't think that even a wolf can growl like that thing did.

I get about eight laps done before I begin to see more and more students begin to enter the school. I do another two, making sure that I'm working hard enough that sweat drips down my forehead (in a _very_ attractive way) and my legs feel as though they're going to come off. My throat is so raw from my haggard breathing that it tightens with every step.

"ZIEL!" Somebody shouts from the bleachers. I allow myself to slow into an easy pace so that I begin to cool down. My head whips towards the voice. Coach stands there in all his middle-aged. Beer-bellied glory, holding a batch of lacrosse sticks, staring at me with his brows narrowed.

"Morning Coach. How was your summer?" I greet through strained breath.

"Jesus Christ, Ziel! Slow down, I don't want you _dead_ for the meet! Go and hit the showers before I come over there and kill you myself."

Giving him a thumbs up, I slowly jog back to the changing room where I go through the rushed process of showering, dressing and drying my hair. By the time I'm finished, I'm gagging for a drink but have no time to stop at a water fountain when I look at the clock and see that I've got two minutes to get to English.

I practically jog to the other side of the school, nearly losing a flip flop on more than one occasion. I spin around the corner expecting to find the open doorway to the classroom but instead I collide with a body that makes an incredibly startled and girly sound on impact.

Looking up, an apology is already on my lips when Stiles Stilinski beats me to it.

"Romey Ziel! What a coincidence that we just, uh, _bumped_ into each other, we-we were just looking for you." I look behind him to see Scott who smiles at me warmly. I sigh, anticipating that they'd want to talk to me, and walk into the classroom just before the bell goes.

I slide into my usual spot, the one I've had for every English lesson since junior year (located in the back corner), and take out my notebooks and a fresh copy of Metamorphosis. As the teacher isn't here yet, Scott and Stiles stand next to my desk. As it isn't pitch black, like it was last night, I can see them both clearly. Apart from being the same height and build, but Scott being just a bit smaller, the pair look completely different. While Stiles sports the short cut of hair, Scott's looks like it's never been groomed; where Stiles has a milky white skin tone, Scott is tanned; Stiles lacks social confidence, Scott lacks academic abilities. And yet, with the countless personality and physical differences, these two could be brothers. There is no disputing that.

"Surely you've heard it all from Scott, but I'll just say the same thing to you that I said to the police." I shift uncomfortably, not liking the idea that of being interrogated by these two. "I was out for a run, like I usually am when I can't sleep, I hear you both talking about a body and I get curious. Long-story short I found the top-half of girl." I wince when the image of her cold dead eyes flash in my mind, "and then Scott gets attacked by a wolf, I run to my car and find him walking blindly into the road. I pick him up, take him to the hospital and here we all are. End of story." I think Stiles was expecting something more exciting and novel worthy as he looks at Scott with an expression that accuses him of making me out to be more exciting than I am. "Can you leave me alone now, please?"

Before they can say anything, the teacher enters and orders everyone to their seats and I thank all things good and holy that the two boys do as they're told. However, Stiles takes the seat directly in front of me whilst Scott takes on of the remaining two at the center of the classroom.

"As you all know," the teacher begins, writing the topic title on the board 'KAFKA'S METAMORPHOSIS'. "There indeed was a body found in the woods last night." I shift in my chair and swallow something big. "And I'm sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened." My eyes flicker to the classmates who seem unaffected by the news and almost laugh at how far off the mark he is, "but I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody," Scott turns to his best friend for answers but the only reply he gets is an unknowing shrug, "which means you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus which is on your desk outlining the semester."

There is a collective groan as students start to read the horrors that lay ahead of them. I try to do the same but am stopped by Stiles spinning around in his seat and staring at me whilst cogs spin in his mind.

"So, this disgusting, mutilated corpse," He really doesn't leave anything to the imagination, "What was it like?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I hiss, looking him in the eyes, "but it was enough to give anyone nightmares."

His eyebrows rise.

"Did you have nightmares?" I open my mouth, then close it when I can't think of an appropriate response. I decide to tell the truth, thinking that he'll get so freaked out that he'll leave me alone for good.

"Every time I close my eyes."

Unsurprisingly, Stiles stares at me with an expression that says, 'you're crazy' but still, he doesn't turn back around.

"Romey, right? C-can I call you Rome? I'm gonna call you Rome." I don't bother interrupting, just let him speak what's on his mind, "Why don't you talk? It's funny, I-I think this is the first time I've heard you speak more than a few words, which usually are 'Can', 'I', 'be' and excused." He's waffling. Nervous, probably.

I think carefully about my answer. I could either go with what I tell the guidance counsellor when she asks the same thing (which is, "I don't feel comfortable") or what I really feel. Stiles Stilinski doesn't seem like the type to be a guidance counsellor.

"I talk all the time. There's just not a lot of people listening when I do." He's about to say something (probably something sarcastic and witty that will undermine the way I feel) when the teacher deliberately coughs taking Stiles' attention and giving him a warning to turn around or face the consequences.

Looking down at the syllabus, I try to focus but there's a little tick in my mind that tells me that I've made a mistake by giving these two boys the impression that they can interact with me. The classroom door opens and the vice principle walks in accompanied by a slim brunette girl who captures the attention of the room, especially the attention of a certain mop-headed McCall.

"Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome." Short and sweet. He leaves, leaving Alison to take the only available seat behind Scott, who seems more than happy at the new arrangement.

"We'll begin with Kafka's Metamorphosis on page 133" The teacher resumes, signalling that it is now the time for me to return into the isolated state that I have grown accustomed to.

...

"You've got to be kidding me." Axel, my German Sheppard, saw them before I did and bounded over in the hope of making new friends. My eyes follow him as he runs into Scott and Stiles, causing me to run after him.

Getting home from school, Axel had greeted me at the door with his lead hanging from his mouth and a look in his eyes that I couldn't refuse. Plus, I had the itching temptation to go back to the place where I found _her_. So, I took him into the woods, feeling a creepy sense of Deja-vu as I drove past the spot where I found Scott bleeding half to death. We'd been walking in one direction for about fifteen minutes before Axel ran off to greet the two boy wonders and opened me up to a really awkward situation. I had managed to avoid them for the rest of the day despite knowing that each of them had looked for me at least once, and now my damned dog had ruined it all.

But I still love him.

They looked pretty harmless, as in they weren't looking for dead bodies, and I only manage to catch something about melting silver and something about this Friday before Axel and I get to them.

The dog runs straight for Stiles who falls over in shock with a high-pitch, "AAAH-", when he realises it's just a dog however, he becomes quite happy to let Axe lick his face whilst Scott just laughs.

I snort, _young love._

"Hey, boy! Aw, you're so handsome," Stiles coos my dog as though Axe is a baby whilst I come running up to join them, "and who do you belong to?"

"Me." Both boys look at me shocked and more than a little suspicious.

"You know," begins Scott, "I'm starting to think that you're stalking us."

"Give me a break. It's not like I'm taking pictures of you while you change or watching you sleep." There's a moment of silence.

"Are you?" They both ask at the same time, proving how in-sync they are, yet whilst Scott is worried, Stiles sounds more… intrigued?

" _No!"_ I cry, scrunching up my face as though the idea that I find either of them worth obsessing over is preposterous. "Don't be stupid."

"Then what are you doing here, hm?" Stiles asks.

I gesture to my dog that he's busy gushing over and stroking lovingly.

"What do you think?" To further prove my point, I reach into my parka's coat pocket and pull out the used poo bag that I haven't had the chance to get rid of and throw it so it lands right beside him.

Scott and I can't help but laugh as his best friend yells and jumps up, making retching sounds like he's going to throw up.

"Ugh! Okay, okay I believe you!" He exclaims, moving around like he's trying to shake off phantom dog poop or something.

When my laughter subsided I pose the same question to them, and quite simply, Scott says, "We're looking for my asthma pump." He looks down at the area we're standing in, "And I could've of sworn this is where I dropped it"

A shiver crawls up my spine as I look around the familiar looking space. My eyes roam over the leaves, looking for the logs and the trees that I can remember from yesterday. They land on a space near a bush and I freeze. This was it. This was the place that I last saw her, dead and cold and frighteningly ominous.

"We saw the body, the deer came running, and I dropped my inhaler." Scott crouches to sift through the leaves but I don't pay attention, all I can see is the memory of her eyes.

"Maybe the killer moved the body." Stiles suggests, patting Axel's head. A pair of booted feet enter my line of vision and as my eyes travel upwards I see the boots are connected to back jeans then to a black t-shirt and then to a black leather jacket and finally up to an incredibly intimidating and serious male. _So_ intimidating that I reach into my pocket and wrap my hand around the can of mace that I carry around with me. When I meet his eyes something frightening happened and I see the girls dead body flash in my mind, but instead of it begin in this bush, she's buried six-feet under, and I subconsciously take a step back.

"If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are like 80 bucks-"

"Guys." The pair turn to me, I nod my head in the stranger's direction and they follow my gaze.

Seeing him, Stiles pulls his friend to a standing position and looks around nervously, shoving his hands inside of his pockets. Looking at Scott, he isn't the only one that's wary of this new guy.

When he sees that he has our attention, he strides over and for a split second I thought he was going to pull out a gun. _That's_ how unapproachable this guy is.

"What are you doing here?" Upon hearing his voice, Axel whimpers and hides behind Stiles' legs which makes me feel unloved but this is definitely not the time to be jealous. "Huh?" He prods, "This is private property."

"Uh, sorry man, we didn't know." Stiles rubs his head, showing how uncomfortable he is.

"Yeah, we were just looking for something, but…" Either Scott was about to say 'inhaler' or 'severed body' but the look that the man/boy gave us said that he wasn't going to be satisfied with either response. "Uh, forget it."

The man/boy reaches into his pocket and quickly chucks something at Scott, walking away immediately after. In Scott's open palm lies an inhaler. _His_ inhaler.

"Axel," I whistle and the dog comes trotting over, whimpering and looking cowardly. I suppose he feels the same thing we all did- that the man/boy isn't _whole._ I squat and hold his head to my chest, trying to calm him. "Who was that?"

"That was Derek Hale." Replies Stiles, "You don't remember him? He's only like a few years older than us."

I shake my head, I've been living in Beacon Hills for four years and I don't remember seeing anyone so on edge. I begin to put Axe's lead back on, more than ready to get the Hell out of here.

"Scott, do you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"His family. They all burned to death in a fire, like, ten years ago."

As the words reach my ears images of screaming and smoke and bodies being burned from the inside out sear my mind, so potent that I can almost smell the repugnant stench of burning flesh and taste the grim deaths on my tongue. An involuntary tear rolls down my cheek as I see hands desperately reaching out of a basement's barred window, trying desperately to reach air.

"Come on." Scott resigns, and the pair begin to walk off.

"Rome, you coming?" Asks Stiles. Turning red, I eagerly begin to wipe my cheeks hoping that they don't see the unshed tears resting heavily on my eyes.

"Um, no. I'm gonna make sure that Axe has finished all his business." I tug on the end s of my hair, as I lie- by the size of the crap that I threw at Stiles earlier I wouldn't be surprised if the dog didn't need the toilet for the next week.

Stiles watches as I pull on my hair but walks off without saying anything.

I couldn't tell them the truth: I couldn't say that when I looked into Derek's eyes I saw _them_ , saw them looking down at the buried body of the poor girl who was torn in half. I couldn't tell them how much that frightened me, how much I never wanted to look at a dead body again. And how I feel like having even the most insignificant relationship with them will force me to do just that.

Axel and I take the long route on the way back to the car, walking along the edge of the forest, by the road instead of cutting through the woods. The sun was due to disappear completely over the horizon and I mindlessly watch trees sway in the wind as my thoughts wandered off into the realms of my family. My mom, my dad, my brother, spending summers on the beach and forcing down my dad's rhubarb and sprout casserole and playing with my dolls despite the discontent all three of them felt about the idea. It was the four of us for a very long time, and then we got Axel.

We've had Axe for long enough to be comfortable with him not having to wear a lead the whole time that we're waking, as he's always stayed next to us. Consequently, I was able to get lost in my endless thoughts without having to worry about him running off. I was also unable to notice his erratic, uncharacteristic behaviour that cause him to go into the road, neither did I notice the car run straight into him.

The screeching of tyres, pulled me out of my own mind and back into the real world. My neck flips over to the source of the sound, fear striking up my spine when I see Axel lying on the floor in front of the now stationary car. I scream and run over to him, kneeling beside him at the same time the driver gets to him. I stroke his face, beginning to cry in a mixture of shock and relief as his eyes are open and moving.

 _I'm starting to really hate how this freaking year is going._

"Oh boy!" I beg, stroking the space above his heart in an effort to soothe him, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't paying attention."

I hear a pair of feet running over and look up to see the new girl, Allison, staring down at us with tears and rain falling down her cheeks. Its then that I realise the rain that's pouring down and sitting in it isn't going to help Axe.

"Help me!" I shout, making her jolt into bending down and joining me in carefully picking him up.

"Um, we'll put him in my car. I can take you to the vet."

"Yeah, well it's the least you ca do." I say through a shaky laugh, my voice hitching at the end of the sentence as I hiccup back more tears.

We manage to get him into the trunk of the car without hurting him further. I don't bother talking to the dog-killer as I think the death glare I gave her said all that I wanted to say (which is, "Press on the gas or I'll run _you_ over"). When we get to the vet, I jump out and open the trunk to see Axel quivering and scared, which breaks my heart quicker than I thought possible.

"Go tell someone that he's coming in." I order Allison who runs inside with her upset showing clearly in her eyes.

"Come on Axel, what's wrong baby?" I lean in when he doesn't respond, acting as though he's whispering something in my ear, "The skinny bitch that ran you over? Axel, what a mean thing to say! I'm sure she's just fine. Now come one, we need to get you fixed up." When he still doesn't budge, I begin to huff and puff, the rain drops falling on my face beginning to hold the same weight as puddles. Everything was just getting so heavy. I still haven't gotten over what happened last night, I'm trying to figure out a way to get Butch and Sundance off of my back and now my dog has been hit by a freaking car.

And I have this weird feeling that it isn't going to get better anytime soon.

Allison runs back bringing a member of staff with her who I don't bother noticing because I'm distracted by my dog who has all of a sudden started to bark and growl aggressively.

 _He really doesn't like that skinny bitch._

"It's okay!" The guy says to my dog. I look at him and almost scream in frustration.

"You've got to be kidding me?! Him?!" Both Scott and Allison give me an exasperated look before turning back to the rabid-like dog.

"She's just frightened." He says to Allison, trying to calm her hysterical condition.

"It's a ' _he'_ and it's _my_ dog so you should be comforting me!" I cut in but the pair hardly notice, too busy staring dreamily into each other's eyes. It makes me sick.

"That makes two of us." She murmurs sweetly.

"Let's see if I have any luck." I scoff, crossing my arms and becoming impatient in the pair of lovebirds. I mean, my angel of a dog was run over and they're having eye-sex which is incredibly unprofessional on Scott's part.

Scott approaches him but still gets barked at, yet he still leans towards Axel, confident that he can get him to co-operate. However, in a split second Axe goes from an angry mess to a hurt little sap, docile enough to let Scott stroke him.

"How did you do that?" I ask, doubting that even I could calm him that fast.

He chooses not to reply, instead picks Axe up and carries him into the examination room with me and Allison following closely behind.

As Scott checks him, I'm forced to stand next to Grand Theft Auto who looks at me, waiting to catch my eye.

"I'm so sorry about what happened! He just came out of nowhere and I didn't see him in time and I noticed too late and I will get the money to pay for any medical help, just please forgive me."

Throughout her apology I come to feel increasingly more sympathetic and decide to give her a chance before writing her off completely. This is mostly due to the fact that my dog wasn't going to die or get his leg chopped off (lucky for her).

Sighing, I playfully nudge her shoulder with my own, making it clear that I don't want to fight, "It's okay, don't worry about it, Axel is the healthiest dog you will ever meet. His insurance could pay off our entire mortgage." I successfully manage to make her laugh and the tension in the room finally begins to lift.

"I think his leg is broken." I expected that much. He turns to look at me, "I've seen the doctor do plenty of splints. I can do it myself and then give him a painkiller for now. But he'll have to stay overnight so that the vet can take a look at him tomorrow." I give a reluctant nod, walking over to the table and bending down to give Axel a kiss. Knowing he's going to be okay, I can feel my stress from earlier being to seep out with every second that ticks by.

"I'd give you a ride home," begins Allison, talking to me but looking at Scott, "But I want to repay Scott by sticking around and helping him close up."

"No it's fine, don't worry. My car's still at the woods so I'll just walk." I make a grab for my coat, which has been drying at the back of a chair, in hopes of getting out of here before their love for each other smothers and kills me.

"Rome, that's a bad idea," Says Scott gesturing to the torrential rain outside. "You can't walk home alone in this weather. I'll call Stiles, he owes me a favour and you pretty much saved my life last night."

"No…really," I reply, trying to reassure him that I really don't need nor want Stiles to give me a lift home, "It's fine my house isn't that far."

"I'm not taking no for an answer," Scott insists, taking out his phone and pressing a few buttons, "He's on his way. No backing out now." Getting the feeling that there was some ulterior motive to his Good Samaritan deed, I'm extremely wary of accepting this offer but it really is raining cats and dogs and I lied when I said that I live close by because I really don't- at all.

Resigning myself to sit in the waiting room (not wanting to be a part of whatever was going on with the two that were still in the examination room), I occupy myself with staring at the posters and pictures on the wall of the reception whilst I wait for my ride.

It's weird to think about how long the last few days have felt in comparison to the rest of my life. With all that's happened, it feels like I've just gotten on a train and I'm never going to get off- which is insane because after Axel is fine and Scott and Stiles lose interest in my and the body that I found is forgotten, everything will go back to normal, right? What if it doesn't?

Stiles doesn't take long to arrive and when he does he chooses to proceed with caution, obviously noticing how cold and dam and fed up I look. He carefully raises one hand at me in a small wave.

"Hey, Scott asked me to give you a ride home if that's cool. I heard what happened, how's Axe?"

"Only I get to call him that." I snap, catching him off guard, "In fact, apart from my name and Axel's name, do you know anything else about me?"

He scoffs, making a nervous sound with his mouth that I've seen him do when he's trying to make up an excuse for being late to class.

"Y-Yeah! Sure I do! Uh, you're in my English class." Stiles looks at me, proud that he's identified the simple similarity between the two of us.

"And your chemistry class… and math." He whistles, surprised by the amount of basic knowledge about me that he's missed out on. "I'll tell you what, you can give me a lift if you can tell me how long I've been living in Beacon Hills for."

"Four." The surety and confidence in his answer causes something to click.

"You've searched for me of the county police records, haven't you?"

Again, he scoffs. "What? No, what makes you think that?"

"Because a few hours ago _you_ thought that I would know about the Hale family fire despite it being ten years ago. So tell me the truth, Stiles, I'm tired."

"Okay, okay. I've asked around about you."

"You did _what?_ " I whisper menacingly, getting up and taking a step towards him.

Holding up his hands, suddenly looking afraid, he back up stuttering something like, "I-I'm sorry, I was worried that you were… You know." My brows furrow in confusion as he gives me a knowing look.

"'You know' _what?_ "

"A stalker."

"Haven't we already had this conversation? Jesus, okay, the only reason why I was in the forest last night was because I was out for a run, I happened upon you guys and decided to take part in some healthy, completely normal investigation that I am now regretting. I wasn't stalking, how many times do I have to say it?"

Stiles takes a moment to deliberate for a second before coming to an unknown conclusion on where I stand in his criminal radar.

"Fine. I believe you. Now, do you want a lift or not?" He asks with a smile. Surprised at the welcoming tone, I just nod my head and follow him outside, making a run for his jeep to avoid the rain. He doesn't bother putting on a seatbelt before driving off. "So what's your address?"

All of a sudden a familiar fear washes over me as I take in how small the space that I'm confined in is. And I'm not alone. I'm with someone who expect me to talk to them and make conversation and I can't do that when I have nowhere to escape to. I know it's pathetic but there have times when my anxiety has been much worse. I'm barely able to murmur he address, no longer able to find my voice.

He nods, taking the correct turn and we drive in comfortable silence and my previous nerves start to disperse as I become increasingly more comfortable with the space and company.

"How do you do it?" Stiles' voice cuts through the silence like a knife, almost scaring me.

"Do what?" I keep my eyes looking outside the car window.

"Take all of the things that people say and do to you, calling you a witch and a murderer, and not let them affect you?"

"Oh." Almost dumfounded, I stare up at the brown eyes that are focused on the road, looking for any indication that's he's making fun of me. Alas, he seems genuinely interested. "I-I don't know. I just know that what they say isn't true, so why should I let it affect me?"

His lips lifts up into an amused smirk, "Well, you saved my best friend last night and I know that _that_ is the truth." I laugh, shocked that I didn't cringe or deflect the attempt to soften me up. "Now answer _this_ question. How come you never act this way at school? You know, happy and social. How come I've never noticed you?"

"I guess because I don't really have any friends so I'm never going out or making the effort to socialize. I just don't feel the need for it."

"What about extracurricular activities? Do you do any of them? Soccer? Tennis? Chess?"

"Why are you asking me so many questions?"

"I want to get to know you better."

"Why?"

"Because…" He scratches his head and scrunches up his nose, trying to think of something to say, "Because you're an interesting person."

I don't even try to withhold the bark of laughter that escapes my chest.

 _Because you're an interesting person._

"Stiles," I say when the bewildered laughter subsides and I meet his confused eyes. "I hope you don't say that to all the girls." He looks back to the road, embarrassed.

Poor guy, I've seen the way he looks at Lydia Martin, the Queen of Beacon Hills, beautiful and untouchable, and he looks at her like she could set him on fire and he'd still kiss her perfectly pedicured feet.

We drive in comfortable silence for the rest of the journey and when he pulls to a stop outside of my house I jump out, giving him a speedy thank you and running into my house before he can say anything else. Before we have to decide whether tonight means something to the budding friendship blossoming between us.

...

As you can expect, due to my reckless actions my car privileges were taken away and I couldn't walk Axe until my guidance counsellor gave it the all clear – this being because my parent have this crazy idea that I got my dog ran over on purpose? All this had a domino effect on many other things; without my car I'd have to get the bus; the bus only gets to school fifteen minutes before lessons start; I can't have my early morning run around the lacrosse field; I'm pent up with stress for the rest of the day; and that means that _nobody_ who comes into contact with me has a nice day. Simple as.

So here I am, slamming books into my locker with the same force I'd use if I was killing a child molester. My headphones are in, blaring the latest post-punk tune, and I'm basically knowing on a now swollen lip.

I'd had another nightmare. One that involved a weird blue flower buried in a spiral graveyard. I was buried six-feet under, my mouth fills with dirt as I try to claw my way out though my desperate effort are futile. I try to scream but mud and worms sink further into my throat. It was torture, lying there and knowing that you were never going to survive but that death would not come quickly. I woke up screaming for help, almost waking the neighbours. I stayed in my mom's arms for what seemed like hours, just rocking back and forth, wide awake and afraid. This morning didn't feel real; I put on some shorts and a jumper without even knowing; had eaten three pancakes without tasting any of them; and had gotten on the bus without realising.

Even now I'm still not feeling right. Hell, I've been staring into mu locker for so long I've forgotten where I'm meant to be. It's not until my locker door is slammed shut that I'm pulled out of whatever zombie state I was in.

"Hi!" My eyes flicker to Allison, who stands next to me with a bright smile. I look around to make sure she wasn't talking to someone else but no, the corridor is basically empty: the final bell had rung a while ago.

"Um… Hi?" I'm not naïve. I know Allison's first friend here was Lydia Martin and her second was that dick Jackson, and these questionable choices in friends has a girl wondering what Allison's intentions are. "Can I help you?"

"Well, yes actually you can." I inwardly groan at my mistake but manage to barely keep a passive expression, "Firstly, I want you to come to Lydia's party on Fri-"

"No."

"Please, Romey? It's the least I can do for… you know-"

"Running over my dog?" Her brilliant smile falters slightly and I realise what a bitch I'm being. "Sorry, it's just been a succession of really bad days. I'll think about Friday but I'm not making any promises." _Lie._ I'm definitely not going.

Allison squeals with delight and bounces on her toes, "Okay, great! And the second thing it, can you come to the lacrosse try-outs with me? I want to support Scott but Lydia has debate club so I have no one to go with."

"I don't know…" I was hoping to go for a run before they closed school but I guess if the field was already taken then I could put this poor soul out of her misery – and besides, she actually seemed nice, "Fine. But just this once. And if you ditch me I'm definitely not coming on Friday."

"Deal." She loops an arm through mine and drags me towards the lacrosse pitch.

When we get there, the players are already on the field. Allison waves at Scott as we get onto the bleachers, finding a seat near the center, Scott tries to wave back but is immediately called out by Coach, making me laugh despite my pitiful mood. I spot Stiles, worriedly looking around. I try to catch his eye but his nervous focus remains on the field and when Coach Blows his whistle, my attention is taken to as the players start to gear themselves up.

As this is the first time I've actually watched a lacrosse game, I really don't understand what is happening. Instead. I watch Allison's reactions in order to understand whether or not what is happening is a good or a bad thing. So when Scott is thrown to the floor, I assume that's bad because she winces and takes a harsh intake of breath. And when Stiles misses another catch she laughs so I assume that's a good thing and cheer. But when I see Scott do a ninja routine of insane evasive moves and skilled gymnastic flips I don't need Allison's screaming to tell me that that was an extraordinary thing.

Actually, from the look of every other lacrosse player, I gather that it was totally out of the blue. For an asthmatic guy, Scott was fast and his reflexes were quick. I mean, the guy ran the length of the field, jumping around and going all 'Jackie Chan' and he wasn't even a _little_ bit about of breath. It was unbelievable.

"You're starting buddy." Couch gleefully claps his new star player on the shoulder, "You made first line."

Pretty much everyone stands up to clap, even me, but once again my eyes find Stiles who sits rubbing his chin in though. Maybe he has the same idea that I have – that something very strange in happening.

For some idiotic reason, I gave Allison my phone number. Which means that Thursday night and the entirety of Friday was spent texting her. However I didn't do much of the texting: it'd get several messaged in a row and occasionally reply with 'k' or 'kl' or 'I refuse to text kisses'. I doubt that Scott really knew what he was getting into with this chick.

Somehow, by some supernatural force of nature, she'd managed to convince me to go to the party at Lydia's house. Yet, I'm in serious denial that I agreed to it willingly considering the kind of people that are going. The thing is that whilst I have nothing against Lydia (who, despite being the social superior to us peasants, has never been malicious or rude to me) her friends I would rather watch burn than have a conversation with them. I just thank my lucky stars that Allison and Scott are going so worst comes to worse I'll just talk to them. Or I can sneak out and go home.

You can assume that my parents were surprised that I got invited to a party considering that I have not brought a friend home from school in the entirety of the four years that we've been living here. Like every other normal pair of parents, they immediately assumed that I was lying so I could sneak out of the house and do crack-cocaine. But after I made them speak to Allison they settled for the explanation that I was finally spreading my wings. I chose not to correct them.

Allison wanted to come round to help me decide what to wear, which made me incredibly self-aware that I owned about four half-decent outfits so I assured her that I could pick something myself (due to the lack of choice) to which she reluctantly agreed.

Staring at my wardrobe for about five minutes straight, hair still wet from my shower, all that I could decide was what underwear I was going to put on. Groaning, I flop backwards and onto my mattress. _How do they do this_ every _weekend?_

"Romey," My mom calls from behind my closed door, "Can I come in?"

The lock clicks open before I can respond and I immediately know that my mom's brought me something. My eyes flicker to her and then widen considerably when they see the Macy's bag.

"Jesus, what did you do?"

"I noticed your closet was a bit bare and with the party I wanted to get you something special. And now that you're actually becoming the sociable daughter that you used to be, I think you needed something more than those disgusting things you call jeans."

"You're going to turn me into a Barbie Doll, aren't you?"

"Now don't look at me like that! I didn't get you that pink, frilly crap that you hate. In fact, some of the things I brought are quite ugly." She tosses the bag onto my bed a few items spill out. Black and red. My favourite colours.

"Mom," I say as I reach for a pair of red checked leggings, pretending to choke up, "I think I love you."

She laughs heartedly as she places her soft hands on my face, she leans in in the way she used to when I was younger with her cheek against my forehead, "I should hope so." She whispers before walking out and closing the door behind her with a soft 'click'.

What I end up looking like is just a slightly spruced up version of what I usually look like; black, frayed crop top; converses; and the checked leggings my mother oh-so-kindly bought me. I didn't put any makeup on (seeing as I don't actually own any) and I let my hair dry into its natural wavy mess.

Allison picked me up at around 8, nodding in approval at my outfit. And, when asked about whether she could do my makeup, I simply reply, "One step at a time."

Don't get me wrong, I've been to parties. Although I was twelve and it was fancy dress with carrot sticks and disco tunes. But it was a party none the less. And I've watched enough of my mom's teen movies to know what tonight was going to be like: lots of drunk people making out in hallway closets and those who weren't doing that would be crying in the upstairs bathrooms. Walking up to Lydia's front door, which was wide open, I could already see a girl with a tear-streaked face sobbing in a corner. I wanted to laugh but nervousness prevented me from doing so much as a smile.

"Don't worry about it," Allison says loudly, so that I can hear her over the pop music, "I'm sure that everybody's drunk enough to talk to you," _Flattering,_ "trust me – you have nothing to worry about."

The music is booming and pretty much all of the guests were in the beautifully decorated garden… so the garden is the last place I want to be.

"You know Allison, I kind of feel ill I think I might just sit this one out." I waste no time in turning around and heading straight back out of the door but she manages to grab me by the shoulders, dragging back to the depths of Hell.

"Oh no you don't. If I'm doing this then so are you."

Grabbing a tight hold on my hand, she drags me towards the garden where bodies are gyrating against each other in some primal display of seduction – it's all _so romantic._

"Scott!" A head of brunette hair turns around at the sound of Allison's voice, a smile plastering on his face as he sees her. I look over at her, watcher her tuck her hair behind her ear and smile bashfully. They're such a cliché that I'd be in hysterics if I wasn't so god-damn nervous.

 _Oh, Jesus, I need I drink._

I leave them to it and head back into the house and into the kitchen. I grab a comically stereotypical red plastic cup and fill it with whatever is in the keg. I sip it slowly as I walk around the almost empty parts of the house, staring at the family photos and paintings hanging on the walls.

I find a particularly interesting photo, tucked away in an alcove, on a shelf near a coat rack. A small redhead, Lydia, sits on the lap of an elderly woman who is frozen in the action of plaiting Lydia's hair and whispering something in her ear. At first you'd think that Lydia is laughing at something the woman has said, as her eyes sparkle with mischief and her mouth is open wide in what seems like laughter, but if you take another look… it almost looks like she's screaming.

"Uh, Rome. Hey!" my eyes pull away from the photo and meet the hazel irises of Stiles whose lips are pulled back in a friendly smile, "I didn't know that you were coming tonight." I take another gulp of the foul tasting beer.

"Yeah, me neither." He wear a pink shirt and a grey blazer, a combination that I wouldn't normally like but seems to suit him.

Not that I'd ever tell him that.

"Are you, uh, okay? You seem a bit lost."

"Not lost," I murmur, looking at the picture again, "Just thinking."

"Can I ask you a question?"

A chuckle hiccups from my throat, "Haven't you asked me enough questions?"

"I guess I have, " he whispers, looking almost forlorn as he leans against the wall, "What do you know about werewolves?"

I almost choke on the beer I'm drinking. _What the Hell kind of a question is that?_

"I-I'm sorry, werewolves?" He nods, giving me a look that says not to ask for the long story. "Well I guess the usual," I begin with a laugh, "turn on a full moon, have a bloodthirsty urge to kill, make a regular reoccurrence to the Twilight series-" The cup is ripped from my hand as Stiles grabs hold of my arms, making sure that I know that he's serious.

"Come on, Rome. Help me out."

I stare into his eyes as he looks down at me. They're big and framed with long, dark lashes. His eyes will no longer be described as brown – it's too dull of a word – they will be a hazelnut and chocolate swirl, complete with a dark rim and decorated with flecks of brilliant gold.

 _Gold._ The word triggers something in my mind, causing my vision to darken and transform the world around me in a nauseating haze. The change comes on so quickly that it feels like head rush and whip lash all-in-one. Stiles and the party disappear, merging into the picture of a murky forest. Between to trees lies a space void of any colour, like a sky without stars. I stare intensely at it, knowing that if I look long enough then something will happen.

Two eyes glow, a brilliant gold that looks like power and strength. I feel the absurd need to get closer to the golden orbs but I find that I can't move: my feet are held firmly in place by an unknown force. And that's when I hear it. The frightening, soul ripping, mind numbing howl. A howl that only the Devil could conjure.

I blink.

Stiles looks down at me, face clouded with worry and confusion. I don't give him a chance to talk.

"Liquid gold." I whisper, voice shaking, "Werewolves have eyes like stars."

Stiles opens his mouth to say something when his body is slammed into mine by a passer-by, causing my head to hit the wall. I hiss in pain, sending a glare to the clumsy drunk. Scott. And he looks wasted.

"Hey man, watch it-" Begins Stiles but when he sees who it is his face morphs from one of anger to worry. He clasps a hand on his best friend's shoulder, "Yo, Scott, you good?"

He doesn't look good. Scott's brow is slick with sweat and his eyes are restless and his body looks like it weighs a hundred tons. He ignores Stiles, choosing instead to shut his and cling to his hair as though he has a wrenching headache.

"Scott?" I ask, "Scott, slow down." I say, noticing his disorientated state of walking, I fear that he's going to collapse and die from choking on his own vomit. "Stiles, something is wrong with him, like _more than drunk_ kind of wrong."

He sighs, rubbing his head and staring as his best friend wanders out of the front door, Allison in toe.

"Yeah, you're right." Thoughts whirl in his mind before he turns on me, "Are you okay? You hit that wall pretty hard." He touches that back of my head lightly. Probably feeling for a bump, but I cringe and shake his hand away.

"I'm fine, really. You should be more worried about how Scott's going to get home without accidentally killing someone."

Fear flashes in his eyes – a fear that tells me that the duo is keeping something important to themselves. "You're right, I'm sorry but I need to go."

Before he can escape I grab his hand. "Ah, ah, ah. No you don't. Allison is going after him and if you hadn't noticed, without her, I'd be at home with a bucket of ice cream and a mile long queue on Netflix." I feel as though I'm quickly coming to the conclusion that the confused expression on Stiles' face is a permanent one: exclusive for me. "I'm coming with you." I state plainly. Stiles looks like he's about to argue so I just groan and start dragging him by his arms towards the area where Scott and Allison went.

"Ahhh," the pained sound escapes his lips, "you've got a _real_ tight grip for someone of you stature."

The quick drive to Scott's house was tense, the whole aura of the place reeking of danger. I'm so desperate to ask Stiles for the truth about Scott. Was he on drugs? Did he have some kind of mental issue? Or maybe, perhaps, is it something a bit stranger? But my questions could wait. We'd seen Allison get into Derek's car and despite him being creepy-incarnate, it didn't seem as though he was going to do anything, so Stiles and I drove straight to Scott's.

Pulling up in front of his house, we saw the front door wide open, no lights were on, just the increasingly alarming atmosphere that filled the night.

"Wait here." Orders Stiles as he fumbles with his seatbelt.

"Are you kidding me? Have you _watched_ a horror movie?" I scoff as he sends me a guilty look confirming that he is, in fact, a horror movie virgin.

"They give me nightmares." He replies, shrugging faux-casually.

"Well, the white guy, aka you, tells the white girl, aka me, to stay put and then the white girl gets brutally murdered by a chainsaw wielding psychopath that likes to skin people!" I get louder with each word, eventually causing Stiles to jump back into his seat with fright. "So no. I will not wait in the car."

"Okay, okay! You can come but just, be careful."

I give a sarcastic 'Duh' as we abandon the car and jog into the house. I follow Stiles up the stairs and down the hallway to a door which I assumes is Scott's. From inside the room I hear a breathless pant and images of him bent over a toilet, hurling his guts out, comes to mind.

Stiles gives the door a knock, "Scott, it's me." He tries the handle but the barrier of wood is slammed shut again before he can move it an inch.

"Go away." Growls Scott. Stiles tries and fails to budge the door with Scott leaning against it on the other side.

"Let me in, Scott. We can help."

"We?" he growls again – there seems to be a lot of that.

"Yeah, Rome is here."

"No! Listen, you need to leave and you need to find Allison."

"Scott, she's fine!" I say, trying to reassure him that his teen crush is %100 A-OKAY. "We saw her get a ride from the party."

"No, Stiles, I think I know who it is." _Know who 'who' is?_ I try to ask what he's talking about but the boys talk over me, seemingly no longer aware of my presence.

"Just let me in." Stiles tries to push the door further, "We can try-"

"It's Derek. He's the one that bit me." My blood runs cold as I listen to him, partially out of fearing Derek but mostly out of the absence of sanity in Scott and Stiles.

"Stiles, _what_ is he talking about?" I ask again, more forcefully this time. He looks back at me, an apology is written all over his face, one that says, "I'm sorry, I want you to know but I can't tell you." Suddenly, a realisation flashes behind his eyes and a look of pure fear derails him. He turns back to the door.

"Wait, did you say 'Derek'?"

"Yes, he's the one that killed the girl in the woods." Impressions zip through my mind's eye like a slide show. Starting with the girl's Hellish gaze and ending with the molten orbs of the – the _wolf_. My back hits the mantelpiece and I clutch at it, beginning to feel sick.

"Scott," Stiles murmurs, the dread evident in his voice, "Derek's the one who drove Allison from the party."

There's a moment, and incredibly angst. Stretched out moment, before the door slams shut with a daunting finality.

"Scott!" Stiles shouts, slamming his palm on the door violently, but there is not reply. "Scott!" He bangs again, and again but isn't able to open the locked door.

"Stiles," I whisper, still shaky. When he keeps trying to open the door I shout. "Stiles!" He flips around, chest heaving up and down, "Allison."

From that one word, a hundred sentences are said between us. He nods, taking my hand and running back to the car. As soon as I slam the passenger door closed we're off, surpassing the speed limit by a stretch. We to Allison's in seconds, vaulting to the front door. Whilst I knock, Stiles rings the doorbell, together making enough noise to wake the whole damn neighbourhood.

"Jesus, come on." I breathe, slamming my hand against the hardwood. He door swings open, a very angry looking redheaded woman standing there, staring Stiles down, making him shiver in the pink shirt.

"Hi, Mrs. Argent. Um… you have no idea who I am-"

"I'm Romey, Allison's friend." Her eyes rest on me, as if noticing me for the first time, before she smiles warmly.

"Romey? Allison's told me so much about you. We're so sorry to hear about what happened to your dog… Max? Was it?"

"Axe." I correct with an exasperated laugh. "I'm sorry to disturb you but have you heard from Allison? It's important."

Her eyebrows furrow before turning behind her and calling upstairs, "Allison! It's for you!"

Both Stiles and I release a much needed breath of relief as the brunette comes into the view, unmarred and sane and pleased.

"What are you guys doing here? Is Scott there, is he here to apologize?"

Stiles and I look at each other, a silent improvisation-session passing between us. His eyes flicker to the tasselled bag on my waist. I nod.

"Um" I begin, plastering a calm smile on my face, "Allison, I was just wondering if you'd picked up my phone? I think I left it in Lydia's kitchen."

A look of disappointment crosses her face when she realises that our visit isn't about Scott ditching her. "No. I haven't, sorry. But I'll get Lydia to keep an eye out."

"Right, well, with that sorted," Stiles sighs, once again rubbing his head – a habit that I can't help but notice, "I think we-we better go." We look at each other nodding in confirmation of our next plan, "Yeah, yeah. We're gonna go. Bye!" he spins on his heels and bolts down the pathway.

"See you on Monday!" I call over my shoulder as I quickly follow him.

"Where to now?" I ask as I get in, clicking my seatbelt in place and feeling giddy with adventure, realising that this is the most fun that I've had in a _long_ time – despite it involving running around, dead bodies and even the crazy prospect of mental instability.

"We drive around until we can find him I guess."

And we did just that. We spent a few hours just driving and talking. I found out that Stiles was the worst lacrosse player to ever walk Beacon Hills High, besides someone named Greenburg, and has never played a match. I learnt that he used to have a pet Boa and has a real issue with spiders. And I learnt that he's been in love with Lydia Martin since third grade. He learnt nothing about me, I didn't let him. And when it reached one in the morning, I crawled into the back seat, lying down and listening to him discuss that differences between Deadpool and Deathstroke as I fell asleep.

I didn't have a nightmare. I didn't even dream. And it was the best sleep I've had in months.

I half wake up to Scott and Stiles talking to each other, not catching anything that was being said between them, not caring, until I hear my name. I listen with my eyes shut.

"And what about Romey?" That was Scott, sounding extremely tired.

"What about her?" And that was Stiles, sounding uncomfortable.

"Are you gonna tell her?" _Tell me what? Tell me what?!_

"I don't know, man." There's a thoughtful pause before he carries on, his tone changing into one of concern, "you don't know what I see when I look at her sometimes, like at your house, or at Lydia's. There's this look she gets, and it not like your average spaced out daze, where she physically looks and acts like she's sleeping. I actually had to hold her up to she didn't drop to the floor." _What? Are we thinking about the same Romey?_ "It looked like she was sleeping but with her eyes open. As if – as if…" Stiles shifts uncomfortably and I can feel his eyes staring at me even through the front mirror. "As if she was dead."

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	2. Second Chance at First Line

**2nd out of the 3 quick instalments. After the next episode the chapters will be updated less frequently - so check the progress bar on my bio.**

 **Again, this chapter has not been proof read to please forgive the mistakes.**

 **Thank you to my first reviewer, Angelus (guest) - You rock!**

 **Please, please, please review. You wouldn't _believe_ how motivating reviews are.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of it's characters**

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"Coach… What is this?" I demand, gesturing to the occupied sports ground. It was a Thursday and Thursdays were track days – everybody knows that. But instead of a bunch of boys in sweat-absorbing shorts and girls in sports bras there is a team of heavily padded, helmet-wearing, testosterone filled lacrosse players walking around as if they owned the place. When Premier Obnoxious himself ignores me to carry on ordering players into position I shout, "Coach!" A started whistle blows from his mouth as he finally notices me staring angrily up at him.

"Oh, hey Ziel! You had great form on Monday by the way. But you do this weird thing where you run on your toes-"

"Coach, I don't need feedback, I need my field!" I plead but he just nods his head towards the bleachers where the rest of my teammates are glumly waiting for lacrosse practice to be over.

"Sorry Ziel, but my boys have a game on Saturday which means that they get priority this week." Sending him a glare, he holds up his hands in surrender, "Hey, hey, het! If this was up to me we'd all come together around a fire and sing Kumbaya but that's just not gonna happen."

Giving him a vicious scowl, I walk to the steel seats as he shouts for Jackson to take a long stick. The infamous team captain looks up when I walk past him, staring at me from his gridded helmet. His unashamed eyes stare at my stomach and legs for an uncomfortable few seconds (which are exposed to the world in the running shorts and cropped sports top that I'm wearing – also unashamed).

"Hey, aren't you that freaky girl?" Jackson asks as I take a seat on the lowest bench, taking a gulp of water, "Have you lost weight?"

Smiling when I remember the playful nickname I used to have, 'Lard-arse', I manage to remain complacent, instead basking in his stupidity.

"Have you lost brain cells?" I reply bluntly, "I'll give you a hint: our answers are the same." I think he gets the hint as he walks off sulking towards the pitch.

I smile and twiddle my fingers as a sarcastic wave 'good-bye'. I wasn't in the mood to take people's bullshit quietly like I normally do. I hadn't been in the mood all week.

As soon as Stiles and Scott had talked about me being some sort of zombie, I 'woke up' and pretended like nothing had happened. They'd shut up for the rest of the short journey back to my house, but I didn't miss the looks that they both threw me in the mirror when they thought I wasn't looking. I waited until I got home to vocally sear myself against ever talking to them again. Unfortunately, this has proved difficult since Allison is constantly talking about Coach's new star player. Alas, with my near-professional skill in avoiding people, I hadn't heard from the two since they told me that they'd talk to me at school. And yet, no matter how hard I try, the world seems to take pleasure in screwing me over at the moment.

Scott and Stiles situate themselves in a line along with the heavily protected players. I assume that the aim of this exercise is to make it past the defender and score. However, when the whistle blows, the first challengers are hurled to the ground by the almighty Jackson. A few of the watchers groan and hiss as another kid is knocked down violently, head first.

"Take a lap Greenburg." Orders Coach, pushing the kid up, who immediately begins to jog, "Faster Greenburg!"

I look over to the next victim, number 11, who looks like he doesn't even know why he's on the pitch.

" _McCall?"_ Number 11 shakes his head and faces the front. Scott. I lean forward, beginning to take more interest in the sport. I still hadn't figured out what was wrong with him but I'll be damned if I wasn't going to find out. "What are you waiting for? Let's go."

When the high pitched whistle leaves the mouth piece, Scott rears forward and for a split second I think that he might be the first to take Jackson down… or not. Jackson pushes him from low down, practically throwing Scott upwards, causing him to flail and kick in the air before smashing to the floor.

"Hey, McCall," sings Coach, who chuckles as he approaches the embarrassed player, "My-my grandmother can run faster than that and she's _dead_." Coach leans in to whisper words of wisdom into his ear, unhearable from my distance, but it seems to have the effect that he was hoping for as Scott picks up his stick and jogs back into the starting position, "McCall's going to do it again!" Mocks the middle-age economics teacher, "McCall's going to do it again!"

The two star players gear themselves up, helmets directly opposite as though they were staring each other down. I watch as Scott's muscles and hands tense before that stupid whistle blows again and he charges forward like a bull against a matador. Sucking in a breath, I wince, already seeing the next violent blow that Scott will have to endure. Only, when shoulder pad hits shoulder pad the bigger of the two fails to stay on his feet. The breaking of bones can be heard amongst the perimeter of the field, eliciting pained groans from everyone watching. Scott grabs his head in pain, dropping to his knees whilst another player – who can be no one else but Stiles Stilinski – runs after him, the rest huddle around Jackson, who's moaning and crying in pain. I'm already on my feet, ready to go get a medic when I notice Stiles practically dragging Scott towards the locker rooms, looking around suspiciously.

Now a difficult choice greets me: Do I help that nimrod of a boy or do I follow the sketchy looking best friends as they shuffle suspiciously away from the scene?

When I make my decision Scott and Stiles are already out of sight but that doesn't matter. It takes me all of fifteen seconds to vault into the school and another thee to get to the locker room, but when I get there, I know that I definitely made the most interesting decision.

The word that comes to mind when I register the scene before me is, 'nonsensical'. Firstly, Scott is _growling_ , balancing on a row of lockers, squatting as if preparing to attack – I can't see his face behind the helmet but I'm sure it would look like someone boiling over with an uncontrollable rage. Stiles is fumbling for a _fire extinguisher_ , his lacrosse gloves making the action as clumsy as you'd expect Stiles to be. I watch stunned by the leam Scott takes with the intention of attacking his best friend as said best friend begins to douse him in foam. Stiles pushes himself out of the door, almost colliding with me if I hadn't moved out of the way fast enough.

"Stiles…" I whisper, he looks at me, barely muffling the frightened cry and breaking out into a guilty sweat, "What, in Jesus' name, was that?"

"Oh, Go-… oh God. Um Romey, Rome… hi." Hugging the extinguisher to his chest, he spews senseless sentences about anger issues and a bad night's sleep and something about Allison's father that I didn't get _any_ of. "D-don't go in there! You know…. Please?"

"Stiles…?" A mousy voice comes from the locker room. Stiles and I turn out heads to see a disgustingly sweaty Scott, doubled over and looking ready to collapse. "What happened?" Stiles' eyes flicker at me heatedly as he drops the weapon and throws of his gloves, frustration radiating off of him.

"We'll talk about it later." Scott looks at me, as if noticing me for the first time, and nods in understanding – _oh, now I'm definitely going to have to find out._

"Look, if you guys want to have a private talk then I can go. I just wanted to make sure that Scott was alright." Before they can reply, I slink out of the door.

"Romey, wait," Calls Stiles who jogs out to meet me just outside of the door. "H-have you been ignoring us? Have we done something wrong?"

"What do you mean?" I reply, playing it cool and coy.

"Well, it's just that… after the other night, I thought you, you know… we were friends?" His eyes look to his feet and I get the impression that he's actually nervous talking to me about this.

"Sure, Stiles." Surprisingly, I meant what I said. Ignoring them hadn't gone very well, despite my diligent efforts, and having friends is an idea that is becoming increasingly more appealing. Nevertheless, I was still going to proceed with extreme caution – especially with Bonnie and Clyde over here.

"Right, cool. Cool." Booted feet shuffle awkwardly as I stand, arms crossed and trying to hide my smile. Stiles was evidently appalling at talking to girls, whether or not he wanted to go to prom with them. "Well, I'll, uh… catch you later."

"Sure, Stiles." He lifts his head slightly so I can see the small smile he gives me before he spins around and gracefully falls back into the locker room. I don't move from my spot.

Pressing my back against the wall, out of sight, I strain my ears, barely managing to catch what they say.

"Stiles, she's gone you can tell me." I hear a thud and a sound of releasing tension and I assume Stiles has dropped to the floor. "Have you, uh, have you talked to her yet?"

A tired laugh sounds from the room, "Dude, she's been avoiding us like the plague. I've only just established neutral territory with her." _Yeah, I wonder why…_

"Well you've got to-"

"You tried to kill me, Scott. Rome isn't our problem at the moment." My head cocks. _A slight exaggeration and kind of rude,_ I think. A moment of intense silence follows, probably spent by the pair staring deeply into each other's eyes. "It's like I told you before: it's the anger, it's your pulse rising. It's a trigger."

"But that's lacrosse." Scott argues, "It's a pretty violent game if you haven't noticed."

"Well, it's going to be a lot more violent if you end up _killing_ someone on the field… you can't play on Saturday. You're going to have to get out of the game."

"But I'm first line."

"Not anymore."

Determining that this is the conversation's end, I tread on my sneakers lightly, the way I was taught to do by my bother for when I wanted to be unheard, back to the pitch where Jackson was being shoved into an ambulance. My team were already stretching, reading to practice until dusk, unfortunately, I have longer lengths to run.

Scott's so-called issue with anger, an uncontrollable rage from the sounds of it –I wouldn't ever believe could come from puppy-dog Scott until the vicious attacks that he made on the pitch and on his best friend has got me feeling guilty.

...

Hospitals used to scare the crap out of me. The pristine walls and the scrubs and the general aura of exhaustion used to make me think of the animal testing labs that you watch on those Go Vegan(!) documentaries. But now, after coming here nearly every day for the last two years, I've come to realise that it's not exhaustion that haunts this place, its relief.

I came to Beacon Hulls Memorial straight from practice, beads of sweat still dotting my skin, training bag bouncing off of my knee. It was just getting dark outside, a few hours before the end of visiting hours, and the last few after-work guests were sill milling around the waiting room.

"Evening, Doc." I greet the receptionist, giving him a small salute.

"Not a Doctor yet, Romey." Replies Bobby, who gives me a tired look. He's been interning for the last few months _whilst_ studying to pass his medical exams that he has coming up. To put it simply, Bobby is a 60-year-old fun sponge in the body of a twenty-something.

"Soon though, Doc. Very soon." I wink, "Is he available?" I ask, leaning over the high counter to get a better look on what's on his computer screen that's so interesting: _solitaire._

"Yeah, yeah. His schedule's all clear for the next fortnight. And I don't think he'd mind a few more visits. You've been slacking lately, Rome."

I give him a sarcastic smile, "Stop being an old sap, Doc and just give me the visitor's book." Without look up from his intense card game he places a clipboard in front of me.

"Use your real name this time. I get in trouble when you write shit like, 'Charles Xavier' or 'your mom'."

I scribble a random word that may or may not look like my name. "You love it really, Bobby. It's the only think that you smile about anymore."

Fun fact: Beacon Hills Memorial is famous for their specialised yet inexpensive ICU. So much so that people would kill to have their loved ones transferred here. My brother was one of the lucky ones – or not so lucky: soldiers were like gold around here, especially if you managed to keep them alive. The Intensive Care Unit is dimly lit and full of plastic plants – I don't know what it is about them but potted, prosthetic agriculture just calms people right down. Hell, my first time here I was sobbing uncontrollably, scared out of my mind of the place and the situation but I saw a potted fern, next to one of those stone hard hospital chairs, and I sat by it all night just feeling the soft leaf under my fingertips. I made them move it next to my brother's bed, so that he could find the same comfort that I did. It hasn't moved an inch for two years.

Freddie Ziel was – _is –_ an American sniper, one of the best the U.S forces has ever seen. So good that there has been several newspaper reports on him in papers like the New York Times: he'd managed to successfully assassinate one of the leaders of a group of Islamic Extremists who'd been torching wives in front of husbands and sons in order to force their submission. The shows was made from over two miles away, through a goddamn window and in the guy's skull. The skill of my brother fascinated people, he got a medal, and received a lot of public praise. On the outside, he used to say, "It's an honour for a young guy like me to serve my country this way," Only we, him and I, know how he really feels.

In the dark, on one of the few nights where he's be home, we'd lay awake all night. On a very special occasion, he opened up to me about the things he'd done, the people he's killed – it could make anyone sick to their stomach. Freddie told me that the people he takes orders from wanted to see the world burn. They'd make him lie and say things like, "I had no choice but to shoot, my team were being fired upon."

Two years ago, Freddie was out in Iraq on a mission like many he'd done before. However, two years ago he was just too slow by a couple of milliseconds. An enemy gunman spotted him before he could and shot him in the head, just scratching the brain tissue. Freddie's been in a coma ever since.

But he can make time for his little sister.

"Hey, loser." I greet his comatose form, placing a kiss on his scarred head before taking a seat, putting my feet up on his bed. "I brought _Of Mice and Men!_ " No response – but I wasn't expecting any, "Ah-ah-ah!" I say, waving a finger at him, "Not right now. I need to ask you some questions first, okay? Are you listening?"

The steady beeping of the heart monitor is the only sound my brother makes anymore – I've learnt that it always means 'yes'.

"Can you remember when I was smaller and you were meaner?" I murmur, making the conversation a private one, "And that kid, Jackson, he pushed me into the mud and threw carrot sticks at me, like, four years ago? Do you remember him? Do you remember what you said to him?" More silence, another 'yes'. "How could you forget," I laugh, "I mean, you beat him to a pulp straight afterwards…"

I shift my legs off of the bed, leaning forward and grabbing his hand, "you said, 'when you throw things at a Ziel aim straight… because we never miss." I grip his fist tightly, "Do you remember Freddie? You punched him square in the nose. He still has a little kink."

Shifting back to a few hours ago, to Scott hurting Jackson almost as much as my brother did, I remember the thought that brought me here.

"Freddie, the anger, that need to hurt someone that you always seemed to have, how did you control it?" Again, there's no answer, just the beeping that tells me that he's alive. I know it's stupid to keep asking him questions but the Doctor's said that he's could hear us and listening to us is crucial if he ever wants to wake up again.

I sigh, looking down at the fingers I'm holding. His hands were always so much bigger than mine, so much stronger and rougher and worn. I lift one of the sausages, feeling the heavy weight and seeing the black under the fingernails that he never stopped trying to scratch off. The doctors though that it was a sign of his body temp. lowering but they soon confirmed that it was just the permanent stain from gunpowder. Freddie liked to make his own bullets so that he could carve a tree on each of them. That was his symbol, this large tree with hundreds of branches spreading all the way around the bullet. That was another secret that we kept between us.

"How'd you do it Frederich?" I reach down into my sports bag, pulling out the worn copy of Steinbeck's novel and opening it to the first page, where (in fifteen-year-old handwriting and eight-year-old scrawl) is inscribed two names. "If you cry at the end again, I'm going to draw a tiny moustache on one of your superhero figurines. Got it?" _Beep. Beep. Beep._ "Good. Chapter one…"

…

"French?" I ask, bewildered as I shut my locker door, raising an eyebrow at the pouty lipped Allison, "Why would you want me to help you with a French class? Aren't you fluent, or something?"

"Yes, but it's my first time actually _teaching_ and I just want a little support," she pinches her fingers together to show just how desperate she is, "and plus, you told me you were bilingual."

"I'm German, Allison. _Ich bin nicht Franzosisch."_ We begin walking down the crowded corridor and towards the stairs where the foot of the traffic is slowly dispersing. "Besides, it's a freshman class, all they want to say is. 'No, really, I'm twenty-one'."

"I know, it's just, things here are going _really_ well. Me and Scott are okay – _great_ in fact. I've made friends with both you and Lydia and I just don't want to go into that class by myself and freeze up, forgetting every single French word I've ever said."

"You'll be fine," I reassure her, getting to the top of the stairwell and seeing a stressed looking Scott, "And I think I found just the thing to calm you down." I nod towards the angry, angry boy and watch in bewilderment she expertly skips down the steps in her super thin heels. I look down at the chipped-nail-polished toes that peek out of my sandals and shake my head, _I will never be able master the skill of walking down stairs so expertly._

I plod down to join them, "Morning Scott, are you feeling better?" My lips tug into a tight smile. Still pretty unconvinced that the guy has _just_ anger issues.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm much better, Romey. Thanks." He stares at me with the same suspicious look that I usually give him but focuses on Allison as her eyes fill with worry.

"Were you sick or something?"

A short laugh leaves my lips at the same time he says, "Definitely something. But it's all good, I've got all the time in the world for you now." _Blech._

"I like the sound of that." She murmurs flirtatiously, stepping a bit closer to him as I just stand there, waiting for her like a lemon.

"Eh-hem," I deliberately cough, calling for the lovebird's attention, "Allison, we have thirty seconds to get to our languages classes and I don't want to test the wrath of the infamous Frau Isold… so let's wrap this up." Getting the message she nods, smiling playfully at my obvious discomfort.

"Listen, I've got to run a French class but I just want you to know that I'm coming to see you play tomorrow-"

"-with me," I interject, "she's my date pretty boy so don't even think about it." They both laugh, not believing that I'm serious: if he thought that he was going to be able to leave me with Lydia and Jackson then he has another thing coming.

"And we're all going out afterwards. You, me, Lydia, Jackson, and Romey – it's going to be great."

"Just splendid," Annoyance that I hadn't been informed of this outing before now flavouring my tone, "okay, Allison, ten seconds." I grab her hand and begin to forcefully pull her away from her little crush.

"Oh and tell Stiles to come! Save me a seat at lunch!" She calls over her shoulder. Sending Scott a wink.

"My God, girl… keep it in your pants." I whisper when we near the language corridor. Allison bursts into a fit of giggles, close to squealing in the fact that Scott is interested in her.

"Yeah, whatever." She replies once her laughter is gone but the bright smile still remains on her face, "I need to stop by my locker so I'll see you at lunch."

Giving a salute, I conform into the rest of the crowd as they huddle into the classrooms when the shrill bell gives a warning to the truants and late comers.

…

Visiting hours had run out before I could finish _Of Mice and Men_ yesterday so here I am, practically skipping with glee that I don't have to eat my dad's dinner and that I get to see my brother. I vault into reception, throwing a Reese's at Bobby who gracefully catches it. We have a little agreement: chocolate = no end of visiting hours, and I'd brought _To Kill a Mockingbird_ so tonight was going to be a long one.

"What's new, Doc?" He barely acknowledges anything apart from the peanut buttery goodness but still manages to hear my question

"You know me, Romey. All-seeing, all-knowing." Advantages of being a receptionist; you know the names of those that walk through the door and those that don't walk out – I was a bit of a sap from a gruesome death every once in a while (as long as I don't have to look at it).

"You see that boy over there? The one that looks about twelve." I look to where he's gesturing and snort when I see Stiles Stilinski hunching down in a hospital chair reading a pamphlet on the menstrual cycle. "Not only did he embarrass himself in front of that girl over there," Lydia sits, legs crossed and talking over her Bluetooth, completely oblivious to the world around her, including the looks that Stiles throws her around the corner. "But his friend, some long haired dude, went into the morgue," _Oh, really?_ "You think they're stiff sniffers?"

"Let's find out, shall we?" Giving him a wink, I walk over to Stilinski, plopping into the seat next to him. He doesn't notice me at first, too busy trying to hide behind the massive diagram of a vagina. "Hey," I whisper, Stiles makes a sound like a frightened dog, almost falling off of his chair before he clumsily composes himself, "If you want some tips for dealing with period cramps, I recommend-"

"Romey! What-" He looks nervously towards the entrance of the morgue, "What are you doing here?" I lean back in my chair, acting completely relaxed as I watch the door that Scott supposedly went through. Buzz-cut leans in and whispers accusingly, "Are you stalking us?"

"Us?" I turn on a light, flirtatious voice – the one that Alison used earlier when talking to Scott, "I was under the impression that I was just stalking you Stiles. But its okay, I like _lots_ of… attention." I want to scream with laughter as the frightened look crosses his face but I manage to keep a crazy-eyes expression.

"Are you – serious… you're kidding me right?"

A whack in the arm is my answer, letting out a gulp of laughter, "Of course I am. I'm here visiting family."

He shakes his head, suddenly understanding, "Oh, _oh,_ right then. This is awkward." A stale nothing sits between us, the questions he wants to ask not sitting right on his tongue.

"So…" I begin, wanting to turn the subject in a different direction and stop him from doing that weird neck thing how does when he's uncomfortable, "Do you and Scott make a habit of looking for dead bodies? Or is it only once every full moon?" My words trigger something and his eyes widen considerably.

"I-I-I-I don't know what you're talking about." Stiles' thumbs start to twiddle, and his eyes focus with intensity on the action. "I'm just here… you know – visiting Jackson."

"Team spirit. I like it." _And I don't believe it._

"Oh, _yeah_ , I'm a–I'm a massive team player."

"Is that why the person you're visiting is leaving with his girlfriend?" Stiles spins around to face the couple, who are unashamedly locking lips in public. I watch his shoulders tense at the sight of the love of his life leaving with some jackass.

"Stiles!" We spin our heads suddenly towards Scott, who storms through the door, the look of determination etched into his face. He doesn't notice me, he just pulls Stiles up from out of his chair. "The scent was the same."

"Are you sure?" Replies Stiles, his mouth wide open in shock and his eyes bright with excitement.

"Yes."

I reach for the pamphlet that Stiles was hiding behind and use it for the same purpose as I listen into their conversation. For two guys with a borderline illegal hobby, they really don't know how to have a discrete conversation.

"So he _did_ bury the other half of the body and his property." _Excuse me? The other half?_ I can feel my eyes becoming more pained as I strain them in shock. I knew that the police hadn't found the body, but the thought that these two had was beyond stupefying.

"Which means we have proof that he killed that girl."

"I say we use it." They begin to walk away and in response I wrap my satchel around my torso and creep behind the reception desk.

"What the Hell are you-" Begins Bobby before I violently shush him, waving a hand dramatically in his face, "Okay then." He resigns to stare back at his solitaire game.

I peek around the side of the counter, managing to hear the last few sentences before they storm out into the darkening evening streets.

"Are you doing this because you want to stop Derek? Or because you want to play in the game and he said you couldn't?"

"There were bite marks on the leg, Stiles. _Bite marks._ " Stiles' mouth forms into a grim line.

"Okay. Then we're going to need a shovel."

When they're out of sight I crawl out of my hiding spot, leaning against the desk in thought.

Through my excellent skills in deduction, I now understand that the two friends believe that Derek, the creepy guy from the woods, is a body shredding murderer and has buried said shredded body on his property, and these _exceptional_ heroes were going to dig it up and hand it over to the police.

This was big.

And I wasn't going to let another adventure pass me by even if that adventure includes two potential psychopaths and a mutilated corpse.

…

As soon as my parents are safely tucked away and snug in their bed, I steal back my car keys from the kitchen cabinet, grab a coat and sneak out of the living room window – the only window that doesn't creek when opened – giving Axel a small wave before my combat boots meet the dry floor of the outside.

"Oh, Baby I missed you." I whisper when I'm inside my beautiful car, caressing the steering wheel lovingly. "Now, do me proud."

The drive to the woods is nerve wracking, the same mantra repeating over and over in my head ( _What the Hell are you doing? What the Hell are you doing? What the Hell are you doing?),_ when I spot the blue Jeep and slow into a park behind it. Looking out into the thicket I see the flash of a torch's light as it whistle s by only to return a few seconds later. Before I can back out of this terrible idea - and having to admit that my mental stability is clearly unhinging - I leave the safety of my vehicle, knowing it's too late to turn back when the figures of Scott and Stiles become more prominent and their voices become crisp in the cold air.

"Who's there?!" Scott shouts, his head peeping out of the hole that they're digging. An actual, coffin sized _hole_. Taking a shaky breath, the ridiculousness of this idea suddenly punching me in the face, I bite the bullet and step out from up where I'm hiding. "Rome?" Scott inquires, his voice high-pitched from the shock and the confusion upon seeing me.

"Wha-? Did you say ' _Rome'_?" Demands Stiles, his head too popping up next to his best friends. "What are you doing here?"

I admit, I have no Plan A let alone a Plan B – but that doesn't really matter, does it? I mean, all I was essentially doing was meeting some friend, who didn't know I was coming, to look for something interest that just so _happens_ to be the body that has been giving me nightmares for the past week.

"… Just out for a stroll."

"Oh?" Stiles quizzes, nodding his head with sarcastic enthusiasm, "Oh, a stroll at one o'clock in the morning, starting at the Hale house and ending where, _Mexico?_ Yeah, okay."

"Okay, fine! I heard you guys talking about Derek being the cause of that girls death and I got curious." From the looks on their faces, they seem to fear the worst, "This is just _healthy_ curiosity. I am not stalking you! How any times do I have to say it?"

"Oh, I don't know," Begins Stiles, face twisting in mock thought, "Maybe when you stop turning up to places _uninvited?_ " He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, pulling a childish smirk, "It's just a thought."

"Hey!" The volume of my voices rises to meet his, "it's not my fault that you guys are _incapable_ of talking privately! I mean, seriously, learn to whisper."

" _Learn to whisper!_ " He mimics, talking in a baby voice that proves to just irritate me further.

"What are we, seven-years-old?"

" _What are we-"_

"Oh my God!" Shouts Scott, silencing the both of us as we stare guiltily at our feet, "Shush! Both of you. We're digging up a _body_ here. I don't know about you two, but I'd rather not be noticed."

"Sorry." We, the guilty party, murmur together.

"Rome," I look up to meet Scott's eyes, "If you want to help, there's a spare shovel in the Jeep."

A few minutes later and I'm between the boys as we dig in a silence filled with the murky cocktail of fear, apprehension and sick excitement.

"This is taking way too long." Muses Scott, worriedly looking around for any sign of Derek's return.

"How long have you guys been digging?" I ask, wanting to know how long Derek's been gone for.

"Um, forty-five minutes… but don't think about it. Just keep going." Stiles continues to plunge his shovel into the soft dirt as I jump up to prevent the work they've done from spilling back into the pit we've made.

"What if he comes back?" Scott's voice is thick with anxiety as he tries to convince Stiles that this is a bad idea.

"Then we get the Hell out of here."

"But what if he catches us?"

"I have a plan for that." I snort, earning myself a glare from Stiles but I carry on smirking anyway. "We all run separate ways. Whoever he catches first, 'Too bad'."

"I _hate_ that plan."

"I don't," I interject, "If speed determines which one of us dies, I think I've got a good chance."

"Oh, you're just lovely." Stiles criticises, to which I just shrug my shoulders. Shaking his head, he throws another dig down and a clear, disgusting squishing sound can be heard on impact.

"Whoa, dude. Stop."

Throwing their shovels to the side, the pair get down on their knees, feeling around for the knots that bind the body in cloth. I stand at the side-lines, alarm bells ringing in my ears. A feeling that I've been here before washes over me. That I've _seen_ this happen – but that's crazy: I'd think I'd remember something like this. Still, whilst the boys a busy arguing over the speed that they're unravelling the corpse at, my eyes focus on something completely different – but something incredibly important. A small blue flower. Half dug up, shines like a beacon. Becoming drawn to it, I take a few cautionary steps towards it. It looks so familiar as though I'd seen it in a dream.

 _In a dream_.

The nightmare comes rushing back in small segments. Spiral. Buried live. Worms. Grave. And a flower. In this last hour alone, I've witnessed over half of this horror come true.

WAGGHAAA! OH GOD!" The wail emits from Scott and Stiles as they jump out of the hole, looking frightened for their lives. I run over, forgetting all about the flower, and look into the pit from the furthest possible distance. Lying there, hair and all kinds of scary, is half a wolf. A tongue limply lies from its snout as its eyes focus on nothing. On the other hand, the expression within those glassy orbs is incredibly… human.

"I thought that we were looking for a _human_ body?" I whisper, mostly to myself.

"It's a wolf!" Scott's on his knees, rocking back slightly at the shock.

"Yeah, I can see that!" Lying down, Stiles shouts at his friend, unable to mask his shaky tone. "I thought you said that you could smell blood, as in human blood."

"Doesn't all blood smell the same?" I inquire, just to receive exhausted looks in return. I put my hands up in surrender. "I'm just as confused as you both are."

"But there is one thing I'm certain about." Asserts Scott, "We've got to get outta here."

"I agree," I respond, rubbing my now frozen arms, "This is starting to give me serious heebie-jeebies."

"Yeah, yeah. You're right." Admits Stiles, getting up and handing me a shovel. "Help me cover this up." I begin to scoop the dirt back into the pit when Stiles suddenly changes his mind, "Wait. Wait." I freeze and look to the point nearby which Stiles is fixated with, "You see that flower?" I hold my breath, not even having to look to know what flower he's talking about.

"Do you know what it is?" I demand, beginning to feel my cold hands beginning to shake.

"Yeah, uh… I think its Wolfsbane."

"What is it?" Asks Scott, looking thoroughly confused.

"Haven't you ever seen 'The Wolf Man'?" When Scott shakes his head, his friend's face becomes thoroughly disappointed, "Lon Chaney Jr? The original classic werewolf movie! Romey, please tell me that you know what I'm talking about!"

"Sorry, I'm more of a Barbie movies kind of girl." I say, shrugging my shoulders apologetically.

Sighing in disbelief, Stiles begins to move towards the flower, "You're both so unprepared for this."

I watch intently as he picks up the flower, pulling it from the ground to reveal a thick wad of rope. He looks over his shoulder at us, a confused look on his face – own to match our own – and carries on pulling it.

The trail that the flower reveals takes him in circles towards the centre of the grave, forming a spiral. Upon realising what's happening, I seem to lose my breath. I spiral graveyard. It seems impossible, irrational and (quite frankly) mental but I can't ignore the fact that these events seem to be alarmingly correspondent to my recent nightmares. And as I stand, fixated on the rope being unearthed, the already dark atmosphere shifts into something much worse.

"Stiles." Scott whispers, looking down at the wold. They both stand at the edge, bodies tense and eyes wide.

"What is it?" I ask with apprehension, taking precautionary steps towards them, fearing that what I'll see is going to change everything – but that's ridiculous, "Guys, what is it?"

Scott's head jerks as he face me. Holding up his hands as he comes to stand between me and the hole. "Rome, stay back." He orders, blocking my view. My face scrunches up in confusion.

"Why? What _is it?_ "

"Just, don't look."

"Dude," Interrupts Stiles as his expression becomes forlorn and almost tired, "I think she should know."

Scott splutters: "What? We barely know her! How do we know that we can trust her?"

"I right here!" I screech, not caring who hears me, jolting them both with my sudden outburst, "So stop talking as though I'm not. I know, okay. I know about Scott being a more than a little bit weird. Hell, I _saw_ him almost attack you like some kind of wild animal. It's obvious that you two have some weird crap going on so, for God's sake, stop pretending like I'm not here."

Tense seconds pass as they silently come to a decision on where I stand in their minds. Eventually, Scott steps aside, allowing me to pass.

With every step the air becomes denser, making even breathing a difficult task. I come to stand next to Stiles, who looks at me with an expression I'm too all over the place to identify. I stare back, giving a slight nod so that he knows that I can handle whatever it is they're keeping to themselves. I'm yet to determine whether or not that's a lie.

Letting out a breath, I look into the dark pit, my eyes meeting the very object of my nightmares. In the wolf's place, lies the severed body of the girl. If I had the ability to breathe I think I would scream but instead I just stand here incredibly still as my mind tries to make sense of what I'm seeing. But what I'm seeing only makes sense in fairy-tales.

"Romey?" Stiles' soft whisper cuts through my chaotic thoughts, "Rome?"

"This was only supposed to be a nightmare." I hear them both shift uncomfortably, not knowing how to handle an oncoming breakdown. "Tell me what's going on, _now_. Before I personally go to the police and tell them what we did here." I know I'm being a bitch but at this point I don't care.

"Right, well… Scott here-Scott is," Stiles begins nervously, rubbing his chin as he tries to find the right words, "Scott's ah-a-"

"Stiles!" I shot with impatience.

"-A werewolf! He's a werewolf. Scott's a werewolf."

…

"Are you kidding me?" I whisper menacingly, anger beginning to boil over, "Are you seriously trying to tell me that Scott's a werewolf?" I spin around to face the accused, who just shrugs. "You think I'm going to believe that? That _Scott McCall_ is a werewolf. Jesus, if you don't trust me or simply don't like me you could've just said so." A disbelieving laugh disguises how upset I really am. "Instead of pulling this crap. Really? Making fun of me whilst a dead body-"

"Romey." Scott interrupts with a commanding authority, "Just watch this, okay?"

"Watch what?" I demand, crossing my arms.

Albeit angrily, I observe as Scott rolls his sleeves up, taking a deep breath before reaching into his jeans' pocket, pulling out his pocket knife. I don't understand what he's doing until he holds the blade to his arm.

"Scott, what the Hell are you doing?" He doesn't reply straight away, just draws a long line of blood from the inside of his elbow to his wrist.

"That night, when you found the bod and pretty much saved my life, I was bit pretty badly. But it healed the next day. Confused? So was I." Millimetre by millimetre the cut slowly begins to disappear, as if by magic. "I was able to see, hear and smell things that I shouldn't be able to see, hear and smell. I made it onto the lacrosse team overnight and I attacked Stiles." My head moves to his friend, who's watching me with cautionary eyes. "It was a full moon last week, did you notice?" I shake my head, not being able to speak with the lump in my throat. "But you noticed my behaviour, Hell you were there when Stiles found me wandering out of the woods." By the time he's finished, the cut is healed and my head hurts.

"Rome," I turn to Stiles, who has come to stand next to me, "It's the truth. I've seen it with my own eyes. And the reason why we're telling you this is _because_ we trust you," His eyes move to Scott and then back to me, "Because you're our friend."

"So, what you're telling me is that you're an _actual_ werewolf? With fangs and claws and fur?" He nods and I point to the body, "And so is she?"

"And Derek." Interjects Stiles.

" _Derek?"_

"Yeah, he's the one that turned me. And, Rome, he's incredibly dangerous so you need to stay away from him, okay? I can't protect you if you go looking for trouble." I mentally scoff, _you grow a pair of fang and you're my hero? No, I don't think so._

"But if Derek's the Big Bad Wolf, then what does that make you?"

"I'd like an answer to that too."

Surprisingly, I'm slowly getting the hang of this idea. Remarkably quickly actually, as if there's always been a part of me that that has believed in this kind of phenomenon. It would explain all the strange things that have been happening, especially with Scott, if werewolves exist.

"So," I turn to Stiles, whose eyebrows lift in worry, "What are you? Vampire? Ghost? Wait. I know, you're a fairy, aren't you?"

Scott bursts out laughing and the tension smothering the woods begins to lift off of our chests, leaving me with the ability to laugh too.

"Yeah, I'm just normal – and by 'normal' I mean devilishly handsome. No fairy blood in these veins. Just Adderall." He sends us into another fit of stress-relieving giggles. And only when the laughter subside do we remember where exactly we are.

"So, do we call the cops?" I inquire, not sure where a werewolf murder stand with the law.

"No. We call my dad."

…

I slept the whole of Saturday, crashing as soon as I saw my bed at four o'clock in the morning. I only woke up when Allison came to pick me up for the Lacrosse game and hat to resort to shoving me out of bed so that the I knock I get from my head hitting the wooden floor of my bedroom jolts me awake. Groaning, I slide into a foetal position and call on the spirit of hedgehog to protect me from predators.

"Romey," Allison goes to my wardrobe and start to rip items off of the hanger before chucking them at me, "get up. The game starts in thirty minutes and you smell. Like _really_ bad. Jesus, what is that? You smell like dead bodies."

"If you don't like my natural musk then leave me here!" I cry pathetically, going so far as to begin crawling under my bed but my efforts are diminished when Allison grabs hold of my ankles, pulling me out and attacking me with a spray of deodorant. Coughing and spluttering, I put my hands up as a sign of mercy. When she lets up, my sleepy body stands.

"Put those clothes on, brush your teeth, put a comb through that bird's nest that you call hair and meet me outside in ten minutes." Sergeant Allison commands, her voice hard and no-nonsense, before she spins on her heels and struts out.

Fearing repercussions, I immediately strip off my grave-digging garb and don it for the skirt and top she's thrown on the floor. I complete the rest of the list in the time given, not being able to do anything with my knotted hair but leave it bouncing off my shoulders.

Allison and her dad wait in the large, red four-by-four that I've seen her been picked up in a couple of times. I slide into the back seat, feeling intimidated by the man behind the driver's wheel, who looks hard-lined and tough.

He turns in his seat to smile at me, "Hi. You must me Romey, Allison's told me a lot about you. I'm Chris." He turns back around before I can so much as smile. Starting the engine, he pulls away from the sidewalk and we're on our way to the school. "So, Romey," Mr Argent says after a few minutes have gone by, filling the awkward silence, "what do your parents do?"

"My mom's a real estate agent and my dad own a local bookshop. You might've seen it actually, it's called 'The Wardrobe'?"

"Yeah, my wife and I went there when we first arrived. It's an impressive little shop. It specializes in fairy-tales, if I'm not mistaken?"

"And other things." My dad is a nut for first editions and hand written texts. At the front of the store are the classics; 'The Chronicles of Narnia'; classic Hans Christian Andersen; volumes of the romantics like Byron and Keats. However, in the back is a museum exhibiting a life spent finding and buy rare collectors' items. My dad's most prized possession being a book of Norse mythology that was written over two hundred years ago. Don't even ask how much it costed.

"And 'Ziel'? An interesting last name. Are you related to Frederich Ziel by any chance?" This takes me by surprise. I've never met any of my brother's private friends. It's even more surprising that the one acquaintance of Freddie I do meet is the father to Allison.

"Yeah. Yeah, he's my brother."

"Hmm. I thought so; you have the same features." Another awkward silence passes before Mr Argent says, in a much more relaxed voice (as opposed to his seemingly permanent stiff tone): "I was sorry to hear what happened to him, my company worked very closely with his division. He was an amazing shooter. One of the best I've ever seen." I look over the fact that Chris spoke about him in past-tense – being used to it by now – and just smile appreciatively.

The conversation finally ends there and the rest of the drive is made in a sombre atmosphere. When we arrive at the grounds I pull Allison aside, "So, your dad seems nice."

"Ha-ha," she laughs, nodding her head, "yeah, he's pretty intimidating but that's what you get when you're an arms dealer for the military."

We head to the bleachers, sitting beside Mr Argent who's already bagged a space in the centre. With five minutes to go before start, the two teams begin to file onto the pitch. Fans begin cheering s their sons and boyfriends and brothers begin strapping on their gloves and putting on their helmets. I see number 24 doing none of this. Instead, Stiles Stilinski just sits on the bench, watching Scott nervously.

"I'll be right back." I excuse myself from the Argents and weave my way from the crowd to sit down beside the teammate. He chew's anxiously on his glove, his leg bouncing up and down. "Stiles, is everything okay?"

"Jesus!" He jumps at my sudden appearance. "Romey, where have you been? Didn't you get any of my messages?"

"No… I-I was asleep." My eyebrows furrow, "Wait, I didn't give you my number."

"It's listed in the hospital records," I scoff, looking to the night sky and rolling my eyes, "but that doesn't matter! Scott is walking on a thin, _tiny_ line. He _changed in my car._ " My eyes widen. I had yet to see Scott in full wolf form but I can imagine it's not fun if you're trapped in a car.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, the-the Wolfsbane triggered it. He went crazy, jumped out of my car and ran off. I was looking for him for _two hours_. I didn't find him until he was in the locker room earlier." Stiles looks into my eyes, fear showing clearly through them. "Scott's bad, Rome. And with the pressure… I don't know how he's going to handle it."

"It's the heartrate, isn't it?" I remark, remembering the other day when they were talking about bloodlust being the cause of his anger – now I know that it's not just the anger that's triggering it. Stiles nods, looking to his best friend as the whistle blows and they all hurl into position, "So, he's about to play a game that requires you to get angry and you're letting him. Stiles!" I scold.

"Hey! I already tried to get him to sit out, but he's not listening… he's too focused on Allison."

"Well, she better be worth it." I mutter, looking back to the brunette who laughs at something Lydia said.

"Hey, kid." Sheriff Stilinski appears behind his son, slapping him on the shoulder. Stiles removes the glove from his mouth and straightens, trying to act natural. "And Romey Ziel, how are you?" Smiling politely, I serve up the generic answer that is 'I'm good'. "So, you think you'll see any action tonight?"

"Action? Maybe."

As the referee's whistle blows, the crowd quietens and the Sheriff returns to his seat. The game begins and our team immediately take possession of the ball. Scott waves at his team, signalling that he's open but is blatantly ignored. Instead the ball is thrown and intercepted by the opposing team.

"Come on." Whispers Stiles, bouncing up and down and shaking with anticipation.

The next few minutes of the games carries on in much of the same way: Scott being isolated by his own team and the ball never staying with a player for very long. Jackson manages to score a few times, casing the crowd to stand and roar, but it still isn't enough to beat the larger player on the opposing team. Girly screams sound behind us and Stiles and I turn to see Lydia and Allison holding up a 'We Love U Jackson' sign.

"Brutal…" Comments Stiles who throws an apologetic look to Scott, who watches Allison cheer for his captain.

"This is going to end badly."

"You took the words right out of my mouth."

"Is jealousy a trigger for transformation?" I guess that Stiles' answer is a 'yes' when he proceeds to put the glove back in his mouth, which proves that he's just as fearful as me as to how Scott is going to react.

I subconsciously tug on my hair as I observe the tensing of muscles that signal Scott's oncoming change. He bends down, his breath freezing in heavy loads, creating the impression of huffing and puffing – like the big bad wolf and the three little pigs. The only question is, which players are going to be knocked down? The aura Scott gives off is so menacing that I notice, dumbfounded, as an opposing player actually takes a step away from him.

"Oh God." Pleads the shaking ball of nerves next to me.

"What's the protocol here?"

"I don't know! He's only been a werewolf for a week." He looks at me, and then to the bleachers, and then to the car park. "I guess we-we run and hide, screaming for our lives as Scott tears everyone here to itty-bitty bits." I stare at him in disbelief, hoping that he's joking. It doesn't look like he is – but Stiles has had years to perfect his sarcasm.

"Oh, how comforting."

On the whistle, the ball is sent flying into the air. The players run into formation, preparing to take possession, but are thoroughly disappointed when number 11 leaps out of nowhere, _stepping on another player_ in order to catch the ball. Simultaneously, Stiles and I look at each other, once again communication a thousand words. Our mouths are agape as we witness our friend tear up the pitch, vaulting to the goal, dodging and evading like a pro. The audience is on their feet when the 3 on the score board turns into a 4. Despite the impending doom, I can't help but leap up as well, high fiving Stiles who's jumped up in glee.

"Yes! That's how ya' – HAHA!" He goes crazy, practically hugging the guy sitting next to him, his reaction sending me into a bout of laughter.

"McCall!" Coach shouts to his players on the field as Stiles and I screech behind him, "Pass to McCall!"

Scott owns the field. There is no disputing that – especially when the opposition _throws_ the ball to the intimidating McCall.

"Did the opposing team just deliberately pass us the ball?" Asks Coach, who comes to sit down next to us, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Yes, I believe so Coach." Stiles answers at the same time that I shout, "Damn right they did!"

"Interesting."

With a minute to go and a point to score in order to win by draw, Scott sprints like a crazed mad man to the goal, running as though his feet were on fire. Putting as much force into this throw, Scott swings the stick, causing the ball to fly at an incredible speed. To the goalie's infuriation, the ball rips through his own net. Inciting a wild roar to emit from the bleachers.

"Oh my God!" I scream, exhilarated by Scott's success.

"Yes!" Stiles throws his hands in the air, waving them about frantically, "WHOO!"

The final whistle is blown and Scott immediately steals the ball and begins running to the goal. The crowd is cheering him on and Coach practically smells the victory. I watch as the other team surround him, taking on a new technique in hopes of bringing Scott down. He slows, and looks around, noticing the manmade barrier. I only realise when somethings wrong when his head shakes erratically and it's seems like he can't focus.

"Stiles," I grab onto his arm, "Stiles, is he changing?" His gaze moves from the hand on his arm to the object of my worry. Noticing the same thing, he slowly stands.

"Oh no, Scott. No, no, no."

My hair soon becomes disgustingly matted from where I've been chewing on it and my leg bounces up and down, ready to tackle Scott if he turns. I don't know how strong he can be and I probably won't be able to have much of an effect but I can certainly hold my own. Alas, something triggers Scott to straighten and relax. I look behind me and see Allison staring at him, soundless words coming from her lips – well, soundless to those _without_ supernatural hearing.

"He really likes her." The whisper almost sounds like a question, but I know it's true. Scott McCall might even being falling in love.

"What-what was that?" Asks Stiles as his eyes flicker between me and the pitch. I don't reply, instead I just smile and turn my attention back to the game.

All eyes are focused on Scott McCall as he prepares to make the deciding shot. It was win or lose. Do or die. Yet, Scott seems oblivious to the hushed breaths or the cheers from his teammates. Instead… he scores. Again. People start rushing the field and the end of time buzzer sounds, all screaming for the MVP.

"YES!" Cries Stiles as he looks down at me with a broad grin. We both laugh, relieved that no one died. "YES!" Grabbing hold of my shoulders, he shakes them whilst I grin. "Rome, we won! And nobody was brutally murdered!"

"I know," I join in with the celebration, jumping up onto the bench, making me a few inches taller than him and dong the same thing, "It's a miracle!"

My grin is so wide it hurts, and with another yelp, Stiles unthinkingly grabs my wait, my hands still on his shoulders as he spins me around, obviously caught up in the moment. I don't want to notice how warm his palms are against the only exposed part of my midriff, but when I do, Stiles has already put me down and an awkward silence passes between us. Fortunately, or thoughts are taken from deliberating on how to make this situationless awkward and turned to his dad and he intense talk he's having over the phone.

"Dad? What's wrong?" The Sheriff holds up a finger, signalling for us to wait before replying to the person on the other end of the line.

"Are you sure…? Okay, I give the all clear, just leave the paperwork on my desk… yeah, yup. I want him to be escorted home in a squad car… Alright, night Deputy." He hangs up the phone, his eyes hooded as he looks at us.

"Dad, what's going on?"

"It's about the body that you guys found." I hold my breath, preparing for the worst, and the worst comes. "Not only have they identified the body to be that of Laura Hale," _Hale? As in Derek Hale?_ "They found animal hairs in the wounds, meaning that an animal attach has been ruled as the cause of death. So… if the animal is the killer then-"

"-Then Derek is released, innocent on all charges." Stiles finishes for him. We share a look, a look that we've been sharing a lot lately, and bolt towards the changing room's not even saying goodbye to the Sheriff.

I easily overtake him but Stiles isn't far behind. In fact, he so close behind me that when I am about to turn a corner of the lockers, and I'm greeted by the full-frontal display of affection between Ali and Scott, I halt abruptly, causing Stiles to slam into the back of me.

We fall clumsily to the floor, Stiles yelping when he bangs his knee on the side of a bench and myself groaning when his hand slams into my back as he attempts to break his fall. It's safe to say that we've expertly given our position away to the lovebirds. Their lips rea apart as their heads twist to us. I imagine what they see; my head peeking out from behind the lockers; my body pushed painfully against the floor by a lump of male who "gracefully" pretends as though he hadn't just seen the opening scenes to their upcoming porno.

"We're not spying on you," I painfully say, "I promise… Stiles, Jesus, you're killing me." I wheeze. Apologising, Stiles scrambles to his feet before giving me hand. The pair stare at us before breaking into wide smiles – I don't think anything could make them unhappy at this moment.

"Well," Allison giggles, "I think that's my queue." Giving Scott one more intimate look, she starts to skip off. "You coming, Rome?"

"I'll be right there." After giving her a thumbs up, we wait until she leaves before Stiles and I mischievously slide up to a very pleased looking Scott. "My, my, this has been quite a night." Scot beams down at me, his teeth on show to the world.

"I kissed her, Rome." He whispers like a little boy with a crayon drawing he's especially proud of/

"Trust me, buddy. We saw." Replies Stiles, giving his friend an approving nod.

"She kissed me."

"Saw that too." Scott shakes his head in disbelief, and I can't help but grin at his happiness, "It's pretty good, huh?"

Scott struggles to find the right words but manages to stutter, "I-I-I-I don't know how I managed to control it… I pulled back." His eyes gleam with pride, "Maybe I can do this, maybe it's not so bad."

Seeing him so happy, so hopeful, made me not want to tell him. Looking at the look on Stiles' dace, I can see that he feels the same way.

"Yeah…" Stiles mutters, deliberating what to do, "Guess we'll talk later then. Come on, Rome." But before he can walk off, Scott and I each grab an arm, simultaneously pulling him back to us.

"Stiles," I warn, "tell him."

"Tell me what?" Sighing, Stiles looks at his best friend with sadness and pity, knowing that the carefree times were over.

"The, uh, medical examiner looked at the, uh, other half of the body we found…" The once relaxed air thickens with tension.

" _And?"_ Motivates Scott, who's desperate to know what we know.

"Well, I'll keep it simple; medical examiner determines killer of girl to be animal not hum; Derek's human not animal; Derek not the killer; Derek let out of jail."

"Are you kidding?"

My eyes are glued to my shoes as I talk – I don't want to see the short-lived happiness leave Scott's eyes. "No… and uh, here's something eels to swallow down: the dead girl's name is Laura… Laura Hale."

" _Hale_?" Scott asserts, speaking the same though I had earlier.

"Derek's sister." Explains Stiles, "Now, isn't that just another lovely kick up the ass?"

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 **Please review and follow!**


	3. Pack Mentality

**I HAVE NOT PROOF READ THIS! I've just gotten sick of it being unfinished and just want it posted so I can move on to more exciting and overall better writing because honestly I wrote this chapter like 6 months ago and I'd like to think that I've improved even a little since then.**

 **Please review!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of it's characters**

* * *

"So, can you go over it _one_ more time? _Please,_ Stiles?" I smile childishly at the webcam, hoping that if I put on some girly charm into my plea that he might not fall asleep on me.

It's around one o'clock in the morning and Stiles has been trying to explain to me all of what they know about the weird crap going on in Beacon Hills. The only light in my room was the computer screen, which showed Stiles lounging on his desk chair; looking about ready to doze off; drool wetting the area around his mouth from when he fell asleep whilst I had a toilet break. On his end, he sees a girl who's wide awake and eager to understand everything; her hair is a tangled mess from where she's been playing with it whilst she though; and her off-white pyjama top is splattered with coffee stains. We both look wrecked, but we don't really care.

"One more time," He states, barely able to lift his hand. I grin as he holds up a picture of an old drawing of a werewolf. "Many people just go with the idea that the werewolf originates from the Greeks. Lycaon was some king that pissed off Zeus 'cause he fed the guy human flesh. Long story short, Zeus killed the dude's fifty sons and turned him into a wolf. Skip a few hundred years and the druids." Stiles replaces the wolf picture with one of some nature/human hybrid looking people, "these earth wizards, showed him how to turn back into human but only until the full moon… do you understand?"

"Yes, but-"

"Great!" He interrupts my inquires so I send him a playful scowl, "Now, from what we know, you can get turned by a bite, like Scott, or you can be born a werewolf, which is what happened to Derek."

"Yeah, yeah. I know that. Move one." I command, and this time the scowl is directed at me.

"Okay, um… Wolfsbane can poison werewolves and force them to change – which is how Laura turned from animal to human. And… I think that's it. Can I go to sleep now?" His voice falls into a whisper as his eyes begin to flutter shut.

"No!" I shout over the microphone, causing Stiles to flail in fright. He rubs his eyes, which are beginning to go red, and takes a large gulp of the coffee I forced him to make, "What about these hunters from the stories, what's up with them?"

"Oh, right, yeah!" He hits his forehead with his palm. "Allison's dad tried to kill Scott."

" _What?"_ My mouth falls open in shock. _But I shouldn't be too surprised,_ I say to myself, _the guy makes guns for a living._ "How did you not think to tell me something like this?"

Stiles just shrugs his shoulders and spins his chair around in boredom.

"Yeah, he shot Scott with a crossbow so watch out for that one."

" _What out for that one,_ " I mimic in his eternally sarcastic voice, causing his to give me a sarcastic 'ha-ha. Very funny'. "Stiles, I drove in a _car_ with that guy and you're only just telling me that he's a werewolf killing, crossbow firing, and gun making psychopath? Thanks for the heads up."

"No problem, Rome. Anything else? Or are you going to release me so that I can get my beauty sleep?" Sighing, I drop the pen I was holding and lean back, starting to feel the caffeine wear off.

"Yeah, I suppose…" He pumps his fist in the air, biting his lip to keep the victory cry from waking up his dad, "But first," Groaning, his hand slowly falls in defeat as he rolls his head in exhaustion, "What are we going to do about Derek?"

Stiles' hands run from the back of his head and down to his face, "I-I don't know… Scott hasn't seen him or heard from him but I doubt that he's over the whole throwing-him-in-jail thing"

"Technically, he doesn't know that I was an accomplice in that so I'm hoping that doesn't rip out my eyes like he's going to rip out yours."

"Oh, great. Now I'm going to have nightmares."

"At least you don't have to get up in five hours…" I place a finger on my chin and look at him with laughter in my eyes, "Oh no wait, _you do!_ Have fun with that."

"So do you!"

"Yes, but I'm used to running on three hours sleep: it's from the years of saying up all night to watch movies." A smirk graces his tired face and he laughs at the joke he's not yet said.

"Well it could be worse. I could be running around on all fours, eating squirrels and chasing cats like Scott."

My laugh turns into a yawn and Stiles catches it, in turn yawing himself.

"Okay, well, I think its bedtime."

"Finally." He scoots his chair closer to the screen so that he can turn it off.

"Oh, and Siles," Rolling his head in slight annoyance he looks at me through hooded eyes, "I'm getting my car back in a few days but I still need a ride and Allison is busy so-"

"Yeah, sure. I'll pick you up at seven." Surprised that he agreed so quickly, I smile.

"I owe you one. Sweet dreams, Stilinski."

"Sweet dreams, Ziel."

…

"Rome!" Spinning around, I see Allison's perfect head bobbing through the crowded hallway. Waving, I adjust the strap on my satchel as I wait for her to catch up.

"How's it going?" I ask as she comes to walk next to me as we head towards the main corridor of the school.

"Haven't you heard?" An excited smile replaces her usual one and she holds my arm, shocked that I'm unaware of the latest Beacon Hills gossip. My eyebrow raise is my response, he lips shut as she gives me a knowing look. "One of the school buses is covered in blood! The back door ripped off by some animal."

"Jesus," I curse, astonished, "do they… do they know what did it?" Sounds of snarling werewolves and screaming girls reach my eyes as I try to pay out what must've happened in my mind – now I know about werewolves, I will never be able to rationally explain an incident without having doubts.

"We don't know yet. But most are saying that it was some kind of wolf or something…"

I look around cautiously, expecting to see Derek or – God forbid – Scott running round with shredded clothes and a snout full of raw flesh. Upon seeing no supernatural teenage boys running around shirtless, I turn back to Allison with a faux-confident smile.

"I'm sure it's just a freak mountain lion eating a deer or something. And anyway," I diverge the subject, a playful smirk creeping onto my lips, "I want to talk about you and a certain lacrosse player." The girl goes red and looks to her feet in embarrassment. I can't help but feel happy for them both – despite still not being able to look at them flirt whilst keeping a straight face.

"Oh, you know…"

"No I don't," I remark, laughing, "My last boyfriend was in first grade. His name was George Snooten and the relationship was based on giving one another worms and mud pies.

A wistful look sparkles in her eyes, "I really like him, Rome," she hugs her textbooks to her chest, "like, _really_ like him."

"Well, I'm happy for you both. At least _one_ of us is getting some action." I joke, winking and making her giggle.

"I could help with that, you know." I shudder at the thought: I am so far from ready to have a boyfriend. Hell, I've only just made friends. "Lydia's been so nice introducing me to all of her friends. And that includes some cute guys…?"

"I'd rather slam my tongue in a car door than shove it down some lacrosse player's throat but thanks anyway."

She makes a show of trying to change my mind, I'm just thankful that she completely drops the conversation when her books go flying on impact with a stressed looking Scott. If it's even possible, her smile brightens.

"You scared the Hell out of me." She scolds, bending down to collect her stuff.

"You're okay?" Scott looks as though he could cry from relief, his chest pumping up and down as he takes large, calming breaths. I give him a questioning look and he returns with one that says, 'We'll talk later'.

"Once my heart starts beating again, yeah." He also crouches to help her as I just look at the scene, which reminds me of a cliché teen movie. Like always. "What?" She asks, also noticing the weird expression on his face.

"I'm just happy to see you." _Smooth,_ I sing in my head, trying my best to not burst out laughing. What helps is the principles voice sounding from the intercom.

" _Attention students, this is your principle. I know you're all wondering about the incident that occurred last night to one of our buses. But whilst the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as scheduled."_

A chorus of groans fills the school, including my own, as all of the students start to begrudgingly walk to their classes.

"Save me a seat at lunch?" Allison rubs his head as though he was a child and walks off, leaving a very pleased looking werewolf staring at her exit.

"Come on, lover boy," I grab his arm, chuckling as I drag him towards our class, "we can't be late for the joy that is chemistry."

When we walk past the row of lockers a loud bang catches out attention. E both look to see Jackson trying to put his crushed locker back into its place with extreme failure.

"Lemme guess," I whisper, not being able to help the amused grin, "you had something to do with that."

The beefy lacrosse player notices and sends us a threatening scowl, "What are you freaks looking at?"

Scott just turns to me with a tight-lipped grin that barely conceals his laughter, and just shrugs, beginning to walk away, which answers my question. Shaking my head, I follow him into chemistry class, taking the seat opposite to Stiles.

"Stiles… _Stiles!_ " I cry, slamming my books on the able to gain his lost attention. He almost falls off his seat in fright: too busy staring at Lydia to notice Scott and I walk in.

"Oh, Jesus," He gasps, holding his heart theatrically, "don't scare me like that."

"I'm sorry." I reply, sarcasm thick on my tongue, knowing smirk on my face. "Long night?"

"You know, you're just the ideal morning person, aren't you?" Laughing, I open my textbook to a heavily annotated page on beta particles. "But, from the looks of it, my best friend might be a murderer and I need to keep someone around as a witness." He mutters, quiet enough that only we are able to hear, as he warily eyes Scott.

"Wait, _murderer?_ Is this about the bus? Do you know what happened? Did Scott do it? What about the-"

"Romey…" Scolds Stiles, who raises his eyebrows in disapproval, "What did we talk about last night?"

"One question at a time." I repeat the mantra glumly, rolling my eyes. Knowing that that was all the apology he was going to get, he leans forward, taking his voice down to a whisper.

"Scott had a dream about Allison last night-"

"Actually, on second thoughts, I don't want to know. In fact, I don't even want to _think_ about the kinds of dreams that Scott has about Allison."

"No, it's not like _that_." He sighs, a hint of a blush powdering his freckled cheeks. "He had a dream about ripping her into little, tiny, bloody pieces at the back of the school bus."

Putting two and two together, I understand why Scott looked so freaked out earlier before he saw Allison: the poor guy must've thought that he killed her. But if it really did happen and yet Allison was alive then who did Scott kill – I mean, _attack_. I open my mouth to ask Stiles another one of my endless questions when the infamous Mr Harris walks into the room, bringing with him all the bad things in the world. My upper lip subconsciously lifts into a scowl. The guy was a bully and I'm surprised the school even lets that dictator near kids. The room quiets and the students begin to copy down what he's writing on the board. The sound of chalk scratching the surface means that nobody makes a sound… unless you're Stiles and Scott, who turn to face each other whilst Harris' back is turned.

"Maybe it was my blood on the door." Theorizes Scott, trying to convince himself that he did no harm.

"It could've been animal blood?" Adds in Stiles, who squints in thought.

"Or maybe you just didn't kill _anything_?" I butt in, leaning into to their secret conversation.

Stiles acknowledges me by shrugging his shoulders and nodding. "Or there's that. Maybe you caught a rabbit or something?"

"And did what?" Stiles asks, clearly baffled at what a wolf could _possibly_ do with a rabbit.

"Ate it." Stiles replies bluntly, he too debating the IQ of his friend.

"Raw?"

"No. You stopped to bake it in a little werewolf oven." The sarcasm makes me snort into the back of my hand. Unfortunately, it was loud enough to alert Harris of the conversation.

"Mr Stilinski," The self-righteous prick has his hands on his waist and is acting as if he's made out of gold, "if that's your idea of a hushed whisper you might wanna pull the headphones out every once in a while." Unidentifiable sounds come out of Stiles' mouth as he tries to think up an appropriate response, "I think that you and Mr McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?"

"No!" Stiles replies immediately, looking genuinely distraught over the idea. I shove my face into my arm to hide my splutter of laughter.

Ignoring him, Harris indicates their new seats and the boys unhappily slink over to their new seats, the distance already having a physical effect on them.

"Let me know if the separation anxiety gets to be too much. And Miss Ziel?" I look up, meeting the teacher's eyes, "don't make bad choices on whom you choose to associate with." Giving him a salute, I shift to focus on my open textbook.

Only managing to get onto the second ionic bonding chapter, the lesson is once again disrupted – this time by a girl from the front of the class.

"Hey, I think I found something!" The girl exclaims, running to the window. Chairs screech back as we all gather by the wall length windows and watch as a gurney is pushed towards a waiting ambulance in the school's parking lot. It's a bit too far to see clearly but I know for definite that the form on the bed it not a small, fluffy bunny.

"Guys," Scott whispers, eyes flickering between me and the inquisitive Stiles, who carries on staring outside, "that's definitely not a rabbit."

Suddenly, making every single person in the class jump (and a few of us scream) the body sits up, flailing his arms and legs like a man possessed. The old man's screams can be heard from inside of the class room and are crazed and sound just as frightened as the rest of us.

When Scott begins to back away, I come to stand next to him, my hand pressing against his back so that he'd halt, "Scott, you need to relax. We still don't know if you had any part in what happened. You said it yourself, it was just a dream..." Stiles head tilts as he gives me an, 'Oh really?' look.

"Well, your dream came true. Who's to say his won't?" He exclaims, laughing nervously.

"Not helping!" I hiss through clenched teeth, nodding to Scott who is staring off into ace, frightened out of his mind.

"This is good, this is good." Stiles tries again, getting my message and putting a comforting hand on his best friend's shoulder, "He got up, and he's not dead! Dead guys can't do that,"

"But Stiles… _I_ did that."

…

By lunchtime, Stiles and I had made no progress in convincing Scott that he didn't violently murder someone. Instead, the werewolf was convinced that the only help he could get was from Derek. Phsycho-wolf, intense and estranged Derek. Our food was left uneaten on the trays in front of us as we all leaned forward to make a secluded triangle - I was sitting next to Stiles so that we could effectively gang up on Scott.

"What even makes you so sure that Derek has all the answers?" Stiles questions.

"Yeah, and what makes you so sure that he isn't just going to tear you in half and bury you next to his porch?" I add, throwing a carrot stick at him to effectively get my point across – though carrot sticks really have nothing to do with attacking an old man in a school bus.

"Because, Romey, he wants me alive otherwise he wouldn't have turned me in the first place… and during the full moon he wasn't changed, he was in total control whilst I was running around in the middle of the night, attacking some innocent guy!"

"Jesus, how many times? You don't know that you were the one that attacked him!" Another carrot stick flies in his face, but he continues to act as though nothing had touched him.

"I have to agree with her, Scott. We don't know _what_ you did last night."

"I don't _not_ know it." He looks down, his face becoming forlorn and disparaged. "I can't go out with Allison."

Groaning, I lean back in my seat, throwing my head to the sky. "Scott, don't you get it? Allison makes you calm!" The boys look at me as though I'm crazy. "I saw it with my own eyes. This morning you were erratic, you ripped Jackson's locker apart, but one look at Allison's perfectly shaped skull made your little werewolf alter-ego go back into hibernation."

"Oh, are we talking about biology homework?" A tray unexpectedly plops down next to Scott's and we look up to see the glorious red-headed, Lydia Martin bless us with her presence. I nudge Stiles, who tears his eyes away from his love long enough to catch my thoroughly confused look.

"Why is she sitting with us?" I whisper, "I don't think she even knows my name. And I'm sorry to say it but I don't thinks she knows yours either." Scott and Stiles are unable to answer and just stare (though I do feel Stilinski's elbow ram into my stomach), as the entourage – that is Lydia's posse – sits at our table, one by one.

Allison takes the nearest seat next to Scott, who looks close to pulling out the chair for her and passing her a wine list. Jackson is the last to arrive, ordering some jock out of the chair at the head of the table.

"How come you never ask Danny to get up?" The tag-along whines, making me cringe in second-hand embarrassment.

"Because I don't stare at his girlfriend's coin-slot." Danny defends himself, making Lydia girlishly giggle.

The atmosphere at the table is intense and overwhelming – I hadn't been so close to this many people since I was at Lydia's party and we all know how that turned out. Preparing to back out and just eat my sandwich in the toilet, I begin to scrape my chair back, only to feel a hand wrap tightly around my wrist. I look up to see Stiles staring me down, threatening to raise Hell if I left him alone with these culture vultures.

"Romey, _no,_ " He hisses, "don't you dare." Fearing that he'd follow me all the way into the cubicle, I awkwardly slide my chair back into its previous position. He releases me and leans back, trying to act casually cool. It doesn't work.

"So I hear they're saying that it's some kind of animal attack," Danny starts off the conversation, "probably cougar?"

"I heard mountain lion." Jackson states, earning a look from his girlfriend as she confidently corrects him.

"A cougar _is_ a mountain lion." My mouth forms an 'o', eyes flickering between the jock who needs constant recognition that he's the best and his girlfriend that doesn't want him to know that she's _better._ Realising her mistake. She pretends to be confused, her voice imitating a dumb blonde, "Isn't it?"

"Who cares?" the heart-warming reply from Jackson makes me wonder why he doesn't do any charity work. Rolling my eyes, I begin to tear the label off my water bottle – hoping for a distraction. "The guys probably some homeless bum who's going to die anyway."

"Actually, I just found out who it is." Stiles butts in. I hadn't realised that he's checked the news for the incident. "Check it out." He holds the screen back so that we can all see. I lean into him, feeling the proximity and not liking the woodsy fabric softener smell that warms my nose. I pretend not to notice the closeness and watch the video clip like everyone else.

The news reader opens up with the police department's discretion surrounding the incident and eventually leads onto the identity of the victim, Garrison Meyers, who's at the hospital in critical condition. The name doesn't ring any bells for anyone watching, apart from Scott who snatches the phone out of Stiles' hand to stare at the picture of Meyers displayed on the screen.

"I know this guy," He stutters, his comment met with questioning looks, urging him to carry on. "Yeah, back when I used to take the bus when I lived with my dad. He was the driver." Scott suddenly looks up, eyes meeting Stiles and I with starling ferocity. Realisation hits me – Scott _knew_ him, which is evidence that he could've _attacked_ him. Now, I can picture it; Scott, whilst in wolf form, catches onto a familiar scent and follows it; turns out it's the bus driver who freaks out when he sees glowing eyes and fangs; scared, Scott attacks on instinct, clawing at Meyers' face and tearing into his ankles; Scott wakes up the next morning with no memory of what happened; Garrison Meyers wakes up close to death and screaming for help. My eyes shut tightly for a second when I see his face in my mind, pained and afraid.

Scott looks back at the phone screen, eyebrows furrowed. Stiles' knee begins to bounce up and down as his mind begins to reduce the speculations into truths. I myself am thoroughly confused and I know just the thing to do.

Throwing my leather satchel around my torso, I go to stand, not bothering to listen to the conversation the group is having about something as irrelevant as bowling.

"Hey, Rome, where you going?" Asks Stiles, who automatically searches my face for the answers that he's yet to find.

"There's forty minutes left of lunch and I'm not hungry, so I'm gonna go for a run."

He nods in understanding, by now knowing that I run when I need to clear my head. He turns back to the others and I walk off towards the changing room, no able to shake Garrison's screams from my mind.

…

"What's up, Doc?"

"Don't call me that."

Bobby's monotonous voice mixes in with the familiar sounds that Beacon Hill's Memorial never fails to make on a regular basis; the endless ringing of telephones; the chorus of heart monitors; the soft conversations between doctors and nurses; and, of course, the rotation of wheels as hospital equipment is moves and emergency gurneys come rushing in.

Smirking, I take one of the complimentary eclairs out of the small glass bowl on the receptionist's desk. Chewing on the caramel flavoured goodness, my eyes find the reporters milling around outside the front of the building. "Why is the whole of Channel 5 News stalking outside the hospital?"

The clicking of the keyboard carries on whilst Bobby types and talks at the same time, "You know that guy that was attacked at your school?" I nod, the wrapper crinkling under my fingertips as I fold it, "He's being treated here, in the ICU. But between you and me, I don't think the old bugger is going to make it. There was practically nothing left of him when he was brought in."

My thoughts turn to Garrison, who's lying helpless in a hospital bed, probably clinging desperately to what health he has left. He has to be afraid as well, most likely believing that the next person to walk through his door is there to finish him off.

"What room is he in?" Signing my name in the visitor's book, I look up to a disbelieving and amused expression.

"If you think that I'm going to tell you that then you're crazy. I may not have taken my Hippocratic Oath but that doesn't mean I want your disease ridden, teenage hands prodding the poor guy's wounds." Scoffing, I give him the most innocent look that I can muster. From his face, it must be an ugly one. "Go see your brother, Romey, before I tell the head of security that you've been the one stealing food from the vending machines."

Despite giving him a departing scowl, I head up to the ICU without arguing with Bobby about who can get who into the most trouble. I purposefully slow down when I pass some of the rooms, peaking at the patient folders outside of the doors, in hopes of finding the name that I'm looking for. I have no luck and just decide to be content with second-hand information.

"Hey, loser. Did ya' miss me?" Freddie hasn't moved an inch from my last visit but I notice his sheets are changed and his face is shaved: they seem to shave his face _every day_ , which is remarkably efficient, but something I don't dwell on as I'm just thankful that I don't have to kiss a stubbly cheek.

I take my usual seat, pulling out his annotated coy of Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Tell-Tale Heart. However, I don't immediately open it to the first page. Alternatively, I place it on my lap before grabbing Freddie's hand.

"Do you dream?" It was a question I'd been dying to know the answer to for a very long time but I'd never really had a reason to until now. "Or do you just listen? The doctors told me that coma patients can hear." A few nurses stop outside of his door to check his file, I wait for them to leave before I carry on. "I was thinking about it today… something weird happened to my friend and I was thinking about it." Scott's image flashes across my vision and I think about how difficult this must be for him: not knowing whether or not he's a killer. "Have any of your dreams come true? And I don't mean dreams as in aspirations, I mean _dreams._ " I stare at his partially open mouth, waiting for a whisper or even the mouthing of a single letter. But the tube that helps him to breathe is the only thing that has left his mouth in two years.

Letting out a heavy breath, I lean back in my chair, still holding onto his hand. Its times like these when I wonder why I do this to myself, but then I realise that pitying myself is pathetic and selfish and I remember that my brother _needs_ this, despite whether or not he can hear my voice.

I open up the book that's been waiting patiently to be appreciated, and read out the highlighted line as I absentmindedly open Freddie's palm and trace a continuous circle on it with my forefinger.

"The disease had sharpened my senses – not destroyed – not dulled them," I read directly from the age-stained page, "Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in Heaven and in the Earth. I heard many things in Hell." I pause for a moment, my voice cracking as I think about Freddie, no longer dreaming, but being plagued by nightmares. I carry on, my finger still drawing the endless path. "How then, am I mad-"

Before I can finish, my reading is interrupted with loud yells for help that echo down the corridor. Dropping the book. I run after the nurses that all head towards the door at the end of the unit. I stop in my tracks when I see Scott being shoved out of the room, terror shown clearly on his face. I call his name, taking his attention. He walks up to me, his hands restless and his eyes darting around.

"Scott, what the Hell just happened?" My brows are pulled together, my hand wanting to reach out and comfort him but afraid that he might rip it off – he looks agitated enough to do it.

"I-I-It was the driver. The driver I attacked-"

"-You _think_ you attacked." I correct, even though I know that he won't listen.

"H-He just didn't stop screaming." Scot suddenly zones out, his chest heaving as his eyes are lost in thought. All too quickly his head whips towards me, "Romey, I need to speak to Derek. I need to go _now._ "

Knowing that he was too paranoid to be swayed out of this reckless decision, I just nod, "Just… be careful. _Please,_ " I beg, pressing my hands together in prayer, "I don't want to go running tomorrow and find _your_ body okay?" He nods, giving me a small smile in hopes of calming my nerves – or maybe his – before running off.

Seeing no other reason to be outside, I slink back into Freddie's room, picking up the book from where I there it and sitting back down.

"You know the friend mentioned earlier," I whisper, flipping back to the page I was on, "Yeah, I think he's getting worse."

The story is short, only a few pages long, so I reread it in order to spend as much time here as possible. After the second reading I can feel my eyes become heavy. _It's only for a few minutes_ , I reassure myself, stretching out a yawn. Dozing off, my hands falls limply onto Freddie's open palm and I sink into a lucid nap.

Warmth spreads through my body as I drift from the hospital to a clear depiction of my home. The fire is blazing in the living room, so it must be winter. If I was to look around the corner and into the dining room I would probably see the Christmas tree standing proudly and a bowl full of winter fruits sitting invitingly on the table. A sweet, toasty aroma fills my senses as the smell of spiced toast and cinnamon buns wafts from the kitchen. My family has always been big on Christmas; the wholesome gathering of the extended family, sipping on eggnog and sharing he years stories; the chilled, crisp air that covers us like a blanket as we build snowmen and make snow angels; and decorating the house with berries and colours that make you smile and light candles that I will always remember as accompanying pure happiness. All that mushy goodness that you'd see in an ad for 'The Great American Home Store'. There is no denying that the Ziel family is big on winter.

"Hey, Kid. Think fast." Hearing the voice I spin to face it but instead of seeing the backend of my living room I'm transported to the forest of Beacon Hills where the snow covers the floor like dirt does a grave. I'm barely able to dodge the fast flying snowball that is aimed straight at my head.

Laughter fills the air as I squeal, ducking and landing on my back, feeling the ice beneath me begin to melt and seep into my wool jumper. A grin spreads across my face when I look to my attacker, who trudges over to give me a hand.

"Nice aim, loser. But you weren't quick enough." I smirk, brushing the snow of my jeans.

Freddie rubs his chin, trying to look serious but failing miserably. I've forgotten how small he is – he can't be much taller than Stiles – but in my brother's case, height doesn't really matter. He's in his hospital gown, his chin as smooth as it is back in the real world but his shaggy brown hair _exactly_ the same as it's always been: a mess. There's no denying that we look alike with our large blue eyes, pale skin and brunette locks, but it's not just looks that makes us siblings.

"Wipe that look off of your face, Rome. At least I'm better than _you._ "

"Wanna bet?" My hands go to my waist in challenge and he nods. "Prepare for war brother."

With a startling battle cry he charges, tackling me from my shoulders and pushing me into the snow before I can even move. I laugh along, swinging my fists blindly so that he'd shove off. When Fred let's up, we're at the gun range our grandpa used to take us to when we were living back in Oklahoma. Everything here smells like nicotine and whiskey but I'm used to it. The indoor range is definitely not professional standard but the hunting rifles and cheap pistols will do.

"Seeing as you're the youngest, you get first pick." Freddie stands in the front of the wall of guns located behind the sign-in counter. It's just the two of us here, so no receptionist in necessary.

Biting my lip, I survey my limited choice, finally deciding on a 410, 28", single shot break-open shotgun: it's cheap but I love the feel of the wooden butt and stocks. Freddie goes for a .22 revolver that looks as though it came straight out of a cowboy movie.

"What are you smiling at?" He asks when he catches me grinning, "It's like the gun the George uses in-"

" _Of Mice and Men_ , I know… you're just predictable is all." Laughing, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and manoeuvres me towards the targets, muttering something that I can't make out but I'm sure it's rude.

We take our places at our respective booths and put on the protective gear laid out for us.

"So how are we doing this?" I raise the gun in the position I was taught, trigger hand aligned with my armpit, the other gripping the forestock. My chin is wedged in between the stock and the safety as I line it up with the fresh target forty meters away.

"First one to get three in the bull's-eye, alternating shots. You go first." Freddie's voice carries from the other side of the barrier that secludes the shooters. Going first means that even though my brother is the superior gunman, I had a chance of winning.

Taking a deep breath, I take the weight of the gun before I make my shot. The skills I have learnt come back naturally and I pull the trigger with confidence, not even feeling the recoil. I blink out of concentration, already knowing that I've got the bullet within the gold circle albeit close to the edge.

"Not bad for someone who hasn't picked up a gun in years." My brother remarks, his head coming around the separation to watch my pump the forestock and put the safety back on. "Why is that by the way?"

I scoff, acting nonchalant but feeling weird, "You're starting to sound like my guidance counsellor."

A worried crease forms between his brows, "You're seeing a guidance counsellor?"

I only shrug, trying to play it off, not liking how uncomfortable I am with where this conversation is headed. But then I remember that I's a dream and I'm all good.

"Of course I am. I mean, my brother got shot in the head and I'm the one that notified the authorities about how you were slowly bleeding out in the middle of nowhere. They still don't know how I knew that. They're going with the assumption that we'd been in contact at the time but it was never confirmed. Nor is it true." The actual truth is that I'd dreamt all of it, which is crazy, but I refused to let it go until they had checked it out. And it turns out my dream – or nightmare – was real. "Now shoot."

At my order he turns back. _BANG._ Freddie doesn't even have to think before shooting straight away, the bullet sailing through the centre with a satisfying whistle.

"Show off." I mutter, mimicking him and going straight for my next go. My first shot is repeated, which shows a consistent technique but my aim is still a little off.

"You're out of practice."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"No, I'm serious. You're turning 18 in a couple of years and you've always said how much you want your own rifle." _BANG._ Freddie's second shot.

"You make me sound like some gun crazed, trigger happy red-neck. And besides, I've changed my mind – I no longer dream about owning military grade weapons." _That much._

"Our family _does_ have a pretty interesting military history but not so long ago you wanted to be a front line soldier."

"Freddie, I can barely survive high school let alone a war." I take aim and fire, hissing when the bullet hole borderlines that bullseye.

"Definitely not with that form. Do you remember what I taught you?" Sighing, I take off the goggles and the headphones, jumping up to sit on the bench. Freddie drops his gun too, coming round to stand in front of me, the hospital dress is no longer amusing. "Let's change the subject. How's school?"

"Fine." I reply bluntly, no longer in the mood for hearty conversation.

"Made any friends yet?"

"I suppose I've made a few."

Fred's lips twitch up in a smile, "About time… what are they like?"

"They're _fine_ ," I repeat, "but Fred-Freddie… when are you coming home?" My voice has lowered considerably in volume, the question coming out mousy and choked.

"Soon." He whispers, taking my hand, "I promise. Just do me one favour – is that okay, Kid?"

"If it means you'll come back I'll do anything." And I meant it, even though I knew deep down that his was a dream. I'd kill if it meant that my brother woke up again.

"I want you to go see a friend of mine, someone I me when I was in action. Tell him my name and he'll give you a few pointers." He nods to the gun so that I understand what he means although confusion and apprehension still settles uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach. "His name is Chris Argent."

…

A hand grips my shoulder, shaking it with an increasing force. I groan, trying to bat the hand way but it's relentless. My eyes start to pry open, as my hearing stats to register the sounds around me.

"Miss… excuse me, Miss?" I find the face of a slightly annoyed nurse staring down at me, holding a pile of sheets in one hand and my shoulder in the other. "Are you alright?" Waving her attention away sharply, I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth.

"Yes. Yeah I'm fine. I just dozed off for a minute." My arms automatically lift into a stretch and the bones in my back clicking back into place, eliciting a euphoric groan from my lips. Rubbing my eyes, I look at the closed blinds, "What time is it?"

"It's six." She replies, beginning to pull my brother's sheets back.

"In the evening?" I'd slept for two hours? That doesn't seem right: it felt like half of that time had passed.

"No, in the morning." Suddenly, I'm wide awake.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" I cry, leaping to get my phone from my bag, relieved to see that it still has charged but the feeling is automatically replaced when I notice the unread messages and missed calls. "Crap, crap, crap." I mutter as I throw on my sweater and pack the discarded book away. "Bye, loser." I say, kissing my brother on the head and not taking notice of the disapproving look that the nurse gives me for the questionable nickname.

 _I can't believe I've slept for fourteen hours,_ my mind races as I try to make sense of what just went down, _how the Hell did that happen?_ Once I get outside, where I can confirm that it is in fact the morning, I push my hair into a ponytail and look at my phone.

There's a horrifyingly large batch of angry looking messages from my parents, all asking for my location and for me to call them.

Then there's one from Allison, who asks if I can come round later today to help her get ready for her group date.

And then there's a few from Stiles;

 _ **Scott spoke to Derek. Going to the school, do you wanna come?**_

 _ **Good news! Scott isn't our killer, he's just another average teenage werewolf.**_

 _ **Hey, are you okay? You haven't replied and Allison said your parents were asking about where you were.**_

Shit. Actually, no. Double shit. My parents were breaking out the big guns, forming search parties, they probably have signs with my face on them already nailed to trees. Oh God, they're going to be so pissed, even after I explain.

And I only _just_ got my car back.

…

So, I was grounded.

Despite my reasons for being late and notifying my parents of my whereabouts being totally innocent and legal, my parents have acted as though I'd passed out in a field full of nudists with a used needle stuck in my arm. I couldn't really blame them for worrying about me though, especially when they were already nervous from the animal attacks and all. But looking at it in a positive light, there was already a police enforced curfew, so I couldn't go out anyway, and they still gave me my beautiful car back – so I didn't argue with them, instead choosing to just go up to my bedroom and do the mountain of homework that had been neglected in light of recent supernatural revelations.

I lie on my bed, some loose, unflattering pyjamas being covered by Axel's fur who sprawls across me, his bandaged leg stretched out in front of him. My glasses balance at the end of my nose as I try to revise Pearl Harbour but am distracted by the pouty whines of my German Sheppard who demands affection. I methodically stroke my way from his head to his tail, more concentrated on the feel of his fur than the school work in front of me. This is partly because Axel's coat is so soft and partly because every time I read a fact about historical events or scientific proofs, I can't help but wonder how scientists have dismissed sightings of freaking man/wolf hybrids running around but are still convinced that aliens are real (I mean, there is an infinite number of possibilities of _werewolves_ , let alone anything else that could be out there). And how many famous events in history are defined or caused my super humans? The point I'm trying to make is that I don't know how I can learn facts if I don't know how true they are… for all I know Wolfgang Kapp really was a wolf.

Every time I turned a few pages of my history textbook my phone would chime with texts from Scott, Allison, and Stiles; all wondering how I was and all wanting me to listen to their ramblings (as the unwillingly appointed neutral third party of our new-born friendship group). Allison still remained to be worried about what to wear for her group date. Scott was _also_ worried about what to wear for his group date – as though this is his biggest issue at the moment. And Stiles wanted to pitch his theories to me on the school bus attack to someone other than his reflection. I reply to all three in short responses, still not used to the fact that there are people in my life that I have to socialise with besides my parents, but the messages gradually become less frequent and the words on my textbook's pages become more blurred as my eyes begin to tire. Finally resigning, I push the books aside and adjust my bed's pillows so that I can lie back and not disturb Axel, who's finally managed to fall asleep.

Staring up at the sticky stars on my ceiling – which I will forever refuse to take down – everything seems to slow down except time. My mind is finally clear enough to review the past two days, and it's all smooth until it begins to replay the hospital. At first, it was a normal visit but then I fall asleep and I _know_ that although this isn't a shocker there is something in the back of my mind the is calling for a closer examination. I can't seem to shake the feeling that something important happened. But what?

When I mentioned how time didn't slow, I meant it. It felt as though I'd been staring at that ceiling for only minutes when in actual fact the late afternoon sun had lowered into hiding as the moon assumes its position. Blinking back into the forefront of my mind I take a stretch, disturbing the dog who groans in annoyance before shaking his tail and jumping off of the bed to most likely look for food. Smacking my dry lips, I roll over into my pillows and shuffle under my duvet, fully up for falling asleep on an empty stomach and unbrushed teeth – it was just one of those nights … and it want long before it turned into one of _those_ nights.

For a while the house is silent and dark, and when the screen on my phone rings nine o'clock I can only assume that my folks have gone to sleep. I try to as well: I squeeze my eyes shut making the already dark room pitch black under the cover of my lids, but nothing I do can stop the aching behind my eyes. The dull thud gradually gets louder and I toss and turn, my bed suddenly feeling as if it was made of stone. Huffing and puffing, I kick the sheets of violently when the temperature increases and sweat dots my forehead. Sounds that you wouldn't normally hear bang madly on my ear drums; the boiler on the opposite side of the wall; the grandfather clock in the downstairs hallways; and Axel's heavy, tired panting as he sleeps in his bed outside of my parent's room. There tree outside my window begins to creak in the wind, it's branches tapping in infuriating repetitiveness against the glass, almost seeming to seek entrance.

Groaning, I grab a pillow and cover my ears with it, trying to quiet all the noise that is fuelling the oncoming storm of a migraine. Alas, the tapping seems to crescendo into full blown knocks. I proceed to slam my face into the mattress, screaming in an attempt to remove the racket. It only works for a few heavenly seconds until, clear as day at my window, come three, light, almost nervous taps. I swing my head towards the sound, totally ready for chopping up the tree with a wild malice. Instead, I cry out in fright as Stiles Stilinski's head presses up against the glass, waiting for me to notice him and allow entry. Jumping up, I stomp over to the window and lift it open, grabbing Stiles by his shirt and pulling him in. He lets out a cry as he lands on the floor with a painful thud. I thank the lord that my parents are heavy sleepers.

" _Stiles!_ What in _hell_ are you doing?" I hiss, surely looking as though I'm about to smother him with one of my discarded pillows.

He holds up his hands in surrender, "You weren't answering your phone!"

"So you broke into my house?!"

"Yeah." He says blankly, as if that was the only plausible option. Scoffing, I grab one of the pillows and hurl it at him. "AH! Mercy!"

"You do not just stare at a girl sleep, Stiles! You could have just knocked on the front door." I scold, throwing another pillow at his dumb head.

"Ow! I'm sorry, I'm just used to coming through people's windows: it makes me feel like a spy." Despite desperately wanting to crack a smile, I manage to keep a deadly serious expression. "Look, Rome, I wouldn't come if it wasn't important."

Deliberating for a second I decide to let up, collapsing into my desk chair, urging him to say what he has to as he crosses his legs on the floor in front of me. He sighs, rubbing his hands awkwardly as he prepares for what he has to say.

"Garrison Meyers, the guy that was on the school bus with Scott, he-uh-he succumbed to his wounds." I automatically lean forward, my breath escaping me as the room fills with sudden sadness.

"Oh my God."

"Yeah, and now we know that Derek is capable of-"

"Wait, you think _Derek_ did this?" Shrugging his shoulders, Stiles looks up at me with decidedly tired eyes, sleep clearly evading his generally hyperactive mind.

"Well, we know from last night that Scott wasn't the wolf that attacked the driver. It was another werewolf… and who else do we know that runs around once a month howling at the moon and peeing on fire hydrants?"

I lean against my clasped hands as I try to make sense of what all this means. So, yes, somebody _died_ – Laura. But it was Derek's sister and the Hunter's did that. But now that somebody else has died and the only suspect is Derek it means that we're dealing with more dangerous people than we originally imagined and shit is about to get real. Quickly.

"And-and we're sure that it was Derek who killed Garrison?" Stiles gives me a sullen nod, telling me that he's already tried to come up with every other possible solution. "Does Scott know? Where is he?"

"He ran off to find Derek." Shocked at his carelessness as a best friend, I immediately stand.

"And you _let him_?"

"Hey! I'd like to see you try and stop an angry teenage werewolf from making a break for it!" Seeing his point, I collapse beside him on the floor, sighing as I lean back to rest my head on the side of my bed. Stiles does the same and we sit in a comfortable silence as we wait for something to happen or a decision about what to do to be pulled out of thin air.

"So what's the next step?" I whisper, no longer feeling like shouting. Stiles' head turns towards mine and he gives me a despondent smile.

"I don't know."

With nothing else to say, our mind attempts he impossible in order to predict the future. Minutes go by before either of us move, and when we do it's just Stiles moving around to compensate his ADHD. When he settles his shoulder presses up against mine and the woodsy by clean smell enters my senses. I blame he fact that I'm hyper aware of us touching and his _smell_ on the hormones that I'm completely not in control of.

I promise that I, as a questionably normal, naturally hormonal, and healthily curious teenage girl, am not willingly noticing the attractiveness of my preferred sex which comes as a basic human instinct in order to procreate and survive. I's not my fault that my subconscious mind notices his jawline or his eyes or his smile or _other_ parts that correlate with what I would look for in a guy. It's a pure accident that my stupid brain is sending the wrong stupid signals to other stupid parts of my anatomy. It's all stupid.

"Romy?" My eyes move towards Stiles so that I can see him in the corner of my eye, his confused expression tells me that he's noticed my frustration. "Are you, uh, okay?"

"Yeah," I reply with false chirpiness through clenched teeth, "fine. I'm-I'm just worried about Scott."

"I wouldn't be, our Scotty can take care of himself." I can't help the genuine smile that appears at his words, _our Scotty_. So they are my friends. I wanna fist pump the air but remain cool and collected.

"I guess." I murmur, mostly to myself, doubting that Scott would be alright when up against an experienced werewolf that has most likely maimed and killed many people in his life.

"Are _you_ going to be okay?" My eyebrows furrow at his out of the blue question, not entirely sure what the motive is.

"Um, sure? It's not like I'm the one being stalked by some creep with fangs. I'm pretty sure I should be asking _you_ that question." A laugh it forced from my throat in an attempt to lighten the damp mood.

"No, but Scott told me that he saw you at the hospital yesterday and… you know, I-I assumed that-"

"Assumed that I'm what? Dying or something? I appreciate the concern Stiles but I'm fine, I was just… visiting a friend that work there." The slight manipulation of the truth flies form my lips in a rushed string as I desperately try to move the conversation away from Freddie.

" _Oh-_ oh right." He looks down at his hands which play with each other. "So, this friend, what does she do?"

" _He_ just works at the reception and likes me enough to let me wander around." I'm amazed at how easy I can lie – and slightly worried. "Bobby's a grumpy git but we get along." Stiles lets out a chuckle that relieves the tension slightly.

Another bout of silence blankets us, this one even more welcome than the las, so comfortable that I'm able to close my eyes and rest my head against his surprisingly muscle arm. I can feel his eyes staring at my head on his shoulder and can almost _hear_ his mind trying to make sense of what could be his first form of intimate contact with a girl be soon he realises that he's okay with it too and rests his head atop mine.

I start to think that if this is what real friends our age do then I want to make more. What teenager in the 21st century doesn't want a little assurance that they aren't entirely alone in the world? And now I feel like a pathetic dickweed for even thinking like this: two weeks ago I literally cried over human contact and now I'm confidentially and comfortably resting my being on someone.

"I should probably go wat for Scott to get back." He says when an unknown amount of time has gone past. I breathe in and sit up, blinking my eyes ridiculously to wake them up and realising that I'd almost fallen asleep.

"Um, yeah you should do that." Standing with him, I cross my arms in an attempt to show how completely unfazed I am over tonight's events even though I'm baffled at what just happened.

"I'll call you when Scott gets back." I just nod and watch him climb onto the tree outside from my open window. "Sweet dreams, Ziel." He whispers to me before clumsily climbing onto solid ground.

"Sweet dreams, Stilinski."


End file.
